What Ever Happened to Blanche Hudson?
by LavernaG
Summary: Blanche Hudson was brought to the hospital in an unconscious state, half-dead and looking even worse. This is the story of how she rebuilds her life after the events of "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?".
1. Prologue

_**Once upon a time in a land you've never heard of a girl of fifteen picked up a paper and pen, and wrote the title, "What Ever Happened to Blanche Hudson?".**_

_**Now that the formalities are over, let's get down to business. I've been working on this story since August 2018, so you can probably imagine it's going to be a long one. If you've a mind to follow me through, I am probably going to start uploading new chapters weekly.**_

_**Let us just assume that Blanche Hudson didn't die in the end of "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?". This is the story of how she started a new life after the events of the book/film, although fate was never very kind towards her. I have based my story on both the book and the 1962 movie, so if you're only familiar with the latter, don't be surprised when some things don't add up.  
**_

_**I hope you enjoy this story of mine, and I would be delighted if you left me a review to let me know what you thought! :)**_

* * *

Hours seemed like days, and days like months as Blanche Hudson lay in the hospital bed. At first the people around her had all been a mute and busy blur. Rescued from the agonizing sun, she had been moved into some cool room where there was fresh air coming in as a soft breeze from the windows.

The first days had been the worst. Blanche had been too exhausted to open her eyes for more than a few moments, and even then all she'd seen was a dim and unfamiliar room.

Somehow it had felt like the danger was over. Jane wasn't here. Briefly, Blanche's blurred thoughts had returned to her sister, to her tearful and frightened face, to her harsh voice. And then it had all faded away again into comforting emptiness.

The pain in her back, her side and everywhere else in her body had slowly started to fade. At some point a pleasant voice had told Blanche she was doing well.

And then, all of a sudden, she had understood everything. She'd understood where she was, who was talking to her, and most importantly that everything would be all right now.

It had gradually stopped hurting when she ate, although every time she was offered something, a sickening feeling of dread would fill her at the prospect of finding out what it was.

After a while, Blanche had begun communicating with the nurses. Every now and then she would ask them for something to help her with her horrible headache. And each time they would tell her to be patient and wait for her body to recover—it would take time, they said.

It got awful lonesome here. No one ever visited Blanche. And although she had known no one would, it made her feel miserable. The nurses were doing their best to help her, but Blanche sometimes found herself wondering what it was all for.

She missed Jane. Even after everything that had happened, Blanche thought that it would make her feel a whole lot better if Jane were here. If she were sitting in that empty chair by the window or perhaps at the bedside. Even Jane's brooding frown would have been more comforting than the empty, silent shadows Blanche had grown accustomed to in her new room.

She'd heard the nurses talking about all the visitors the other patients were receiving, and she'd felt just a tad hurt. But in truth, she knew she really didn't have anyone who'd want to visit her, anyone who'd even care she was here.

The sensible side of Blanche had returned to take command of her mind, leaving the feverish but truthful one cast aside again, hopefully for good this time. She couldn't be sure if she had really finally told Jane the truth about the accident or had it all been part of a hallucinatory dream. She figured it didn't matter whether Jane knew or not; she wasn't here any more. Blanche would forever have to live with the suffocating knowledge that she had let her hatred for Jane ruin her sister's life. And that no amount of love she had shown her for the last three decades could make up for it.

The nurses didn't allow Blanche to leave the bed. At first it had made her feel sick to see the wheel chair in the corner of the room, just out of reach, like freedom had been for her for those last agonizing days at the house. However, soon Blanche had started to see her condition from the nurses' point of view. Nurse Merrick, the kindest and most patient of the nurses, had told Blanche that she needed rest more than anything else. Blanche had therefore given up on insisting she leave the bed.

The nurses bathed and fed her well. After living with Jane for so long, it felt so good to finally be cared for properly. Blanche could finally sleep peacefully.

One day nurse Merrick surprised her by telling her there were people there to see her. Blanche had known, of course, that it couldn't be good news, but dubiously, she'd told the nurse to let them in.

"I can't. I just can't do it!"

"Miss Hudson, think about it. Think about your sister. She needs help, and we want to give it to her. We only need you to give us permission to heal her."

"But how could I be so cruel to her? To put her in such a place… To make her a mental patient. She'd never forgive me."

"But could you forgive yourself, Miss Hudson, if Jane got worse and did something to hurt either herself or someone else? What happened to you must have alerted you."

"Jane was just confused. She didn't know..."

"Miss Hudson. Your sister is already a mental patient. If you won't allow us to help her, she'll simply be mental. We've been looking after her ever since you were hospitalized. But we haven't had a chance to try and help her, and we won't have. Not before you commit her."

"But I… I can't." Never mind how many times the thought had crossed her mind previously, it now seemed utterly senseless. She couldn't be so cruel to Jane.

"Miss Hudson. We are holding your sister without your permission; it's illegal. But if you refuse to commit her, the authorities will take over. Your sister is wanted for murder, attempted murder and kidnapping. In the worst instance, she could be sentenced to death."

And so, against her will and better judgement, Blanche forced her hand across the document, a twinge of pain rushing through her chest when she saw her signature on the paper. Above all, she wished she could just stop thinking, stop caring, stop feeling so terribly guilty.


	2. Chapter 1

_**Before you read this next chapter, I just wanted to make something clear. In the prologue I mentioned Jane being wanted for attempted murder. I was referring to Edwin Flagg, whom Jane almost ran down with her car in the book. In this chapter the Hudsons' home street is mentioned, and although I know the movie was filmed on South McCadden Place and the radio reporter in the film said North McCadden Place, I'm using the original street from the book. Their telephone number also varies. Elvira the maid was called Edna in the book, and the Hudsons' car was grey.  
**_

* * *

Blanche didn't dare ask how long she'd been in the hospital when they told her she could finally go home. It had been nice to have someone care for her, to not have to worry about her life for a while. But facing the reality now, Blanche felt terrified of it and of the future.

She'd been dreaming about making a new life for herself before Jane had gotten worse for the last time. She'd been planning to sell the house she had to return to now. Without Jane and without Edna she found herself feeling utterly helpless. She couldn't get through her daily life without help. She needed someone to help her, but it made her feel sick when she thought of having to meet people—strangers—and ask them for it.

* * *

Her chair came to a slow stop at the grey coupé someone had brought back from the beach. Blanche reached over her shoulder and caught a soft and wrinkled hand in her own. The woman walked around her, and Blanche looked up at her.

"Thank you, nurse Merrick," she said, giving a radiant and grateful smile, "for everything."

Nurse Merrick returned the smile. "You're welcome, Miss Hudson. I wish you every happiness."

She tried to help Blanche as she pushed herself out of the wheel chair and swung herself to the car seat, but her patient was recovered now. The effort didn't even upset her breathing.

* * *

Blanche dropped her hand in her lap after waving goodbye to nurse Merrick, and proceeded to look out of the window until the hospital disappeared from view. And then the unpleasant feeling of pressing urgency returned.

"Excuse me," she caught the attention of the man in the driver's seat. He was a kind-looking man in his thirties, with big bright eyes and a small wry smile. He'd been appointed by the hospital to take Blanche home and help her around the house for a few days, until she could find someone for herself.

"Yes, Miss Hudson?" he replied, looking at Blanche in the rear view mirror.

"Could you make a stop at the newspaper, please?" Blanche asked with sudden decisiveness. The idea had struck her only a moment earlier, and already it seemed like the only right one.

"Of course." The driver returned his attention to the road. "Although there were today's newspapers at the hospital. You could have asked for them."

Blanche pressed her hands together in her lap, for some odd reason, feeling slightly hot. Maybe it was because she hadn't been alone with a man who wasn't a doctor in nearly twenty years.

"I know… No, I..." Suddenly, she felt so silly that she could almost feel her face turning red. "I meant to put an advertisement in the paper," she breathed quickly.

"Oh," the man said apologetically. "Of course, I should have known." Looking at the now visibly uncomfortable woman in the mirror, he smiled again. "Is something the matter, Miss Hudson?"

Blanche looked up with a sheepish question in her eyes. "I'm sorry but… I seem to have forgotten your name." She felt so embarrassed she wanted to hide her face in her hands and never reveal it to the driver again. His warm gaze, however, prevented her from doing so.

The man chuckled in a friendly manner. It made small wrinkles appear at the outer ends of his eyes, and Blanche found it completely adorable. "It's Gerald. Gerald Henryson. And it's all right, Miss." He sent Blanche another encouraging smile before returning to the traffic.

In the back seat Blanche let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It was as if she had forgotten how to speak without the constant fear of Jane lurking somewhere close-by and listening in.

Thinking ahead, Blanche was rather terrified of going back home. She didn't want to recall the memories of her last couple of weeks there, and she certainly didn't want to start missing Jane even more than she already did.

* * *

The building they entered smelled of ink, smoke and machine oil. Blanche caught herself frowning at the ugly rug at the counter. She wondered briefly if Jane had come here to place her ad that had brought Edwin to their house.

Gerald pulled her chair to a stop in front of the counter, just far enough, so that Blanche could see the man at the other side of it.

"Yes?" asked the man, grabbing a pen from behind his ear, and leaning forward to get a better glimpse of his client.

"Good afternoon," Blanche replied politely, but realized only now that she had forgotten to make up the ad in her mind. "I would like to place an advertisement in the paper." She tried not to react to the newspaperman's stunned expression. Instead she looked up at him in innocent enquiry, waiting for a reply.

"Oh yes!" the man responded after another moment of silent staring. "Have you got it written down or…?"

"No, I actually just had the idea," Blanche said thinly. "I was rather hoping you could… Well, write it down for me yourself."

"Sure, miss." The man reached for a paper, keeping his eyes on Blanche. "Who's placing the ad?"

"Well, I am," Blanche answered automatically. Then, lowering her head to hide the embarrassed blush creeping up her neck, she spoke quietly, "I'm sorry. My name is Blanche Hudson."

She had thought she'd said the name silently enough for it to have been hard for Gerald to hear her, even if he'd listened very closely. Apparently, she had been wrong, as several heads turned in her direction and began staring in mute wonder. It made Blanche feel awfully uncomfortable, even slightly panicky. She had no idea how much the people knew about what had happened. All she knew was that they'd been in the papers—Jane and her both. But did they know how it had all ended? Did they know about Edna?

The man scribbled down her name without sparing a look at the paper. "And what did you want to advertise for?" he spoke with poorly hidden eagerness.

"I'm looking for a new maid," Blanche said, making an effort to keep her voice down. The only problem was that everyone in the room had stopped talking by now, and were staring unwaveringly at the crippled woman in front of the counter.

"She should be able to come and live with me, to help me around the house and all..." Her voice trailed off as she figured it wouldn't do to describe her maid's duties any further, not with the whole ground floor listening.

"Of course," the man behind the counter came to her aid quickly. "I understand. And where should the interested parties call?"

Relieved to have been asked a question she knew exactly the answer to, Blanche straightened up. "HO-6-1784," she beamed. The newspaperman wrote down the number, read it aloud and was satisfied when he received an agreeing nod from Blanche.

As he resumed writing down her request, Blanche suddenly became chillingly aware of the fact that she had been brought in and out of the hospital with bare hands; she didn't even have her chequebook with her, never mind cash. A sickening feeling of alarm filled her as she set about to prepare herself for the embarrassment of having to leave here without settling what she'd come for.

But when the man raised his head again and turned his expectant look upon Blanche, she was suddenly shielded from his view by a figure approaching the counter.

"How much will that be?"

"Gerald..." Blanche whispered in a tone of urgent secretiveness. But Gerald didn't pay her any mind, and handed the stunned man on the other side of the counter the sum he'd bashfully asked for.

* * *

"Gerald," Blanche spoke carefully when the driver had closed the door. Innocently, he looked up at her in the mirror. "You really oughtn't have done that."

Gerald's eyes turned into decidedly firm steel. "Well, I wasn't going to let you be embarrassed, Miss Hudson," he said in a clear caring tone.

Averting her eyes, Blanche found it hard to answer that at first. Her look firmly fixed upon the suddenly particularly interesting skin on the back of her hand, she finally managed a wavering smile. "Thank you. Of course, you will get it all back in your paycheck."

The car sped down the boulevard, towards Hillside Terrace.


	3. Chapter 2

_**This chapter introduces a new character, William "Bill" Carroll to the story. He was Blanche's screen partner in some of her most successful pictures. In the beginning of the "Baby Jane" book Blanche received a letter from him. In the film this was replaced by the fanmail Edna (Elvira) brought Blanche.**_

_**I have also taken the liberty of having Bill sing a little famous tune in this chapter. It's called, "Autumn Leaves" by Joseph Kosma. If you're a Joan Crawford fan, you know why I chose this song.**_

* * *

In the blindingly bright morning sun that invaded the large room from between the ugly drawn drapes, Blanche strained her eyes to find the beauty she'd once seen in this house. The rooms used to be spacious and elegant, the ceiling far as the sky and every single piece of furniture and decoration placed with careful consideration and a strong sense of style. Now the walls and the ceiling seemed to be getting closer by the minute, the vibrant memories of the colourful past suffocating her and trying to squeeze out what little hope for life Blanche still had inside her.

She had slept downstairs last night, on the couch in the living room. Gerald had offered obsequiously to take her upstairs and back down in the morning, but Blanche had refused. She was not ready to go back to her room, her long-time prison she was sure was still a horrible mess from when she and Jane had left rather hastily. She knew she'd have to return there eventually, but not just yet.

The insistent ring of the doorbell made Blanche jump, and a hand shot up to her chest to steady her startled heart. Young swift footsteps carried through the hallway and to the front door. Blanche turned her chair around when she heard Gerald open the door. The same thing had happened last night.

* * *

Gerald opened the door to a friendly-looking woman in a loose-fitting house dress. She looked like she could be about Miss Hudson's age, although her hair, unlike Miss Hudson's, had already turned a natural steel grey. The radiant smile in her slightly plump face seemed to light up the dim evening.

"How can I help you, ma'am?"

"Oh, hello," the woman replied, her words separated by slightly flustered panting. She studied Gerald's face with close interest. "Who are you? I'm sorry. I'm Miss Hudson's neighbour, Mrs. Bates. I read in the paper that she was supposed to be released from the hospital today. I have here all her latest mail; the postman thought it would be a good idea to leave them with me until Miss Hudson returned." Only now did Gerald notice the considerably large packet of letters in the woman's hands. "I've come to give these to Miss Hudson. I thought… That is, if she's well enough to receive visitors."

"Of course she is," Gerald answered. "But I could save you the trouble and give these letters to Miss Hudson myself if you wanted." His generous offer was met by a disappointed look on Mrs. Bates' part. She clutched tighter at the packet of letters and pressed it closer to her chest.

"I was rather hoping that..." At the face of another let-down and yet another dismissal from the Hudson house, Mrs. Bates' voice took on a hurt shiver.

"It's all right," Gerald interrupted her kindly. "I understand. Come on in, Mrs. Bates. I will announce you."

* * *

That Mrs. Bates had been a very nice and warm person after all. The two women had exchanged their sides of the story. Blanche had found out just how much of the story had been covered in the papers. And Mrs. Bates—Pauline, as she had insisted—had been pleasantly surprised and just a little bit uncomfortably self-aware at finding out that her little silly thought of Blanche Hudson watching her when she was out in the garden had been right. Blanche had held herself back from telling her about the note she'd tried to get to her. She had realized the woman would have felt guilty for not helping her, and that was the last thing Blanche wanted to stand in the way of her potential new friendship with Mrs. Bates.

The letters she'd brought were mostly fan letters, some of them about her pictures, and some about Jane. Mrs. Bates herself had admitted to being a long-time fan, and Blanche had, in return, promised to give her a signed photograph of herself as soon as she found one in the house she could sign.

They had made a promise to meet for tea in two days. This person behind the door couldn't possibly be Mrs. Bates.

A few moments after the sound of the front door opening had reached Blanche's strained ears, Gerald appeared in the living room.

"There's a man here to see you, Miss Hudson. He says his name is William Carroll." As Gerald retreated into the hallway, he was replaced in the doorway by a man Blanche had last seen over twenty years ago, and had given up all hope to see again until the arrival of his letter just before Jane had had her last spell.

A sudden dizziness overtook Blanche as she stared up at the familiar kind face. Blanche had forgotten all about the fluttering feeling and the excited quickening of her heartbeat at the sight of him. Her hand clutched at the armrest, lest she fall against it in her stunned spell of weakness. She had dreamed of William Carroll many times over the years, wondered what had become of him after they'd lost contact.

Ha had changed with time, naturally. As he'd said in his letter, he was an older man now than he'd been when they'd been working together. His thinning hair had turned silver, and he'd lost the boyish slimness in his body; his face had gained a few wrinkles that hadn't been there before. But nevertheless, he was the same wonderful close friend Blanche had known all these years ago, with his kind, smiling brown eyes and gentle smile, and even with the same ever straight posture.

As seconds passed and the two of them looked at each other across the room, you could have heard a needle drop. After so many long years and so many sad, doubtful thoughts Blanche was overwhelmed with happiness to see that nothing had really changed about the man. He'd always looked at her this way—from the first day they'd met for their first screen test together—with undeniable and unbreakable love. And Blanche was in a dire need to be loved, to feel loved.

"Bill." Her voice seemed to have come from somewhere far away and in such a soft breath that it felt impossible for him to have heard it. But he did.

"Blanche." He dropped his hat on the library table nearest to him and stepped forward, the soft word falling from his lips into the broken silence. Blanche raised her arms to meet him as he nearly crashed into her in his eager haste.

His strong and safe arms felt so warm around Blanche's petite wasted body, his cheek so soft against hers.

"It's been so awfully long, Bill," she breathed with relief.

"Too long," Bill said tenderly in reply, placing a kiss on Blanche's cheekbone.

It was like a scene in a motion picture, all that was missing was the soft background music, the picture fading into black, and the happy words, "The End" appearing. However, this was not a motion picture, and eventually Bill had to let go of Blanche.

Retreating carefully from their embrace, Bill sat down on the sofa, still close enough to hold Blanche's smaller hands in his own. And not once during this movement did he break eye contact with her.

"You haven't changed," he said, his voice low as if in fear of this wonderful moment fading into a mere unreal dream. Blanche looked so beautiful when she blushed. "Or if you have, you've only grown more beautiful."

The first delighted shock beginning to leave her, Blanche wanted to say that he was only saying that or that he'd always been good with compliments. But her usual modesty seemed to have gotten lost in those deep brown eyes of Bill's, so instead her mouth formed a nearly soundless, "Thank you."

As the pregnant silence resumed, Blanche tried with all her might to concentrate on the task of saying something. Bill didn't seem to mind looking at her wordlessly, his eyes swallowing up the pleasant intensity of Blanche's pretty looks. No doubt he could have sat there looking at her for hours—he'd proven that early in their career.

"You've put on some weight," Blanche finally mustered up the courage to say. And with that the unusual tension between them was broken, reinventing the friendly and comfortable atmosphere they'd always shared.

"Well, I am a married man now," Bill laughed. "That's the influence of a loving wife's cooking."

"Oh, yes! How is Margaret?" Blanche remembered well the young blonde make-up artist who had worked at her last two pictures.

"Oh, you know her," Bill replied airily. "She's still just as full of energy and optimism as she used to be, still seeing the glass half full."

But talking about Bill's wife, never mind how lovely she was, made Blanche frown in cautiousness. "Doesn't she mind you visiting me?"

At that, Bill shook his head with a chuckle, and strengthened his gentle grip on Blanche's hand. "Oh, no," he said encouragingly. "Maggie's got very fond memories of you, and she knows how close we used to be." His words brought a relieved smile onto Blanche's face. "In fact," Bill added, "she was the one who encouraged me to come and see you after what we read in the papers." He lowered his voice to a sympathetic tone. "I'm sorry about Jane."

The name hit Blanche like a sharp slap across the face, and for a moment the terrible feeling of guilt returned. But last night, lying awake in this old house, a house that knew so many horrible secrets about both of the Hudson sisters, Blanche had decided to put the past behind her—all of it. From her own hatred for Jane to Jane's hatred for her. From the painfully persistent memories of her youth to the last weeks with Jane. From her affection for Jane to Jane's confused love for her. In order to start a new life for herself, Blanche had to stop feeling bad about all that. She had to concentrate on the future.

It would be hard. It would be almost impossible. But she had to try. She had to, because there were so many good things left for life to offer her.

"Thank you," she whispered absently, her thoughts racing for something she knew she had to mention. However, with all the madness lately, things didn't seem to come to her as quickly as she'd have liked them to.

"Oh! I got your letter," she said triumphantly. "I'm sorry for not writing you back, but Jane was not well, and it would have been impossible for me to..." Her voice trailed off thinly at the sight of Bill's expression of vague enquiry. In anxious uncertainty, Blanche waited for his next words.

"Which letter?"

Blanche's apprehensive smile fell. "How do you mean?"

"I've written to you at least twenty times just this year."

An enormous weight seemed to have been lifted from Blanche's shoulders. She gave a happy, relieved sigh, and blinked rapidly at the delighted tears that threatened to come. "And all this time I thought I had no friends..."

Blanche smiled back at Bill, and saw his own eyes glistening with unrestrained happiness. It felt so good to look at him and feel the same fluttering way as she had in the bygone days.

"Tell me more about your life," Blanche asked pleasantly, leaning back in her chair comfortably. "Did you and Margaret ever have any children?"

"Yes, we did—three boys." Bill reluctantly tore his eyes away from Blanche's to able himself to talk more freely. Ever since he'd first seen Blanche on the silver screen, he'd fallen in love with her enrapturing eyes. The years she'd spent as an invalid had softened her look; the beautiful snooty eyes that had captured hearts in her pictures had turned into a lovely pair of bewitching orbs that held in them all the despair and purity in the world.

"Our eldest is finishing acting school, the second one is following in his footsteps, and our youngest is entering medical school."

Blanche chuckled. "I hope you've told them what a tiring job acting is."

"They know the risks they're taking," Bill assured her.

"It's so wonderful that your boys have chosen such honourable careers." Blanche had long before stopped grieving for the children she'd never had the chance to have. At some point she'd even considered it a blessing, thinking about her own childhood when she'd always been overshadowed by her sister's talent and ego.

There had been times when Blanche had heard some children playing in the street and had longed for a child's presence and laughter in the house. However, with Jane around there had never been enough time to linger on these empty fantasies.

To fill the fresh silence, Bill chose to risk with the question he'd been impatient to ask. "I suppose it wouldn't do any good to ask about your health?"

Blanche averted her eyes, her gaze falling to her wasted, useless legs. "You suppose right," she admitted with an unintentional thin sigh of despair. "Nothing has changed. I will never walk again." Blanche forced the last words out with great effort. She had accepted the harsh reality long ago, saying it aloud, however, was still a hard task for her.

Bill remained politely silent for a while as Blanche regained her composure. And then he asked ever so carefully, "Do you remember what I told you the last time I saw you?"

Blanche looked up with an air of interested enquiry. "Bill, it was such a long time ago..." she replied wearily.

"I told you you could always walk with me," Bill recalled fondly. He watched as Blanche's lovely eyes widened in recognition, her expression becoming one of astonished disbelief. "May I have this dance?" Bill then offered with an affectionate smile, and stood.

Taken aback by Bill's sudden and totally unreasoning offer, Blanche sank deeper into her chair. Looking up in confused fright, she saw him watching her with a kind of encouraging and all the same challenging smile. Blanche's hand made a small gesture of unease when Bill started to bow closer to her. He couldn't make her walk nor dance, he must have known that. Blanche winced in remembered alarm when Bill's arms wrapped themselves around her upper body. "Oh, Bill, don't..." she whispered in a desperate pleading. "Please..." Nevertheless, she set her arms around Bill's neck in that same affectionate way she'd done so long ago in their pictures.

Bill knew very well when Blanche was acting and when she wasn't—perhaps even better than she did herself. And in light of that certainty, he pulled the woman close and carefully lifted her out of the wheel chair.

Blanche fought back a squeal of protest, but in a reaction of fright her arms tightened their hold on Bill. They were now in a very intimate position with Blanche's weak feminine body pressed closely against Bill's, her head resting against his shoulder.

Blanche hadn't stood upright for the longest of times, or come as close to standing as this position could be. She could feel her legs dangling uselessly underneath her. Bill didn't seem to mind her inability one bit. Another moment passed before Blanche sighed in exhausted resignation. She didn't really mind being held so familiarly by Bill.

The latter tilted his head against Blanche's, and started to sway on the spot.

_"The falling leaves drift by the window..."_

A soft gasp of recognition left Blanche at the sound of Bill's warm voice. It had been ages since she'd danced last. She hadn't thought she ever could again.

As they moved comfortably in the pleasant music, Blanche's hard, frightened grip gradually became a loving embrace. Bill's hands stopped burning her skin through her dress, but instead became a safe haven from all the worries in the world.

No one had ever treated her the way Bill did. He was always so kind and gentle with her. It was as if he always knew exactly what she needed. And today she needed to be loved. Bill's tender, brotherly love was more than Blanche could have ever hoped for.

_"Since you went away, the days grow long..."_

Blanche had missed him so. She didn't notice the hot tears that began streaming down her face.

_"But I miss you most of all, my darling, when autumn leaves start to fall."_

Bill lingered on the last notes, relishing the feeling of their closeness for the last fleeting moment. Who knew if he would still have enough strength in his body to take her dancing ever again? But it had been worth it. Lowering Blanche back into her wheel chair, Bill experienced a curious feeling of reluctance. Pulling away, he noticed with alarm the tears on Blanche's cheeks.

"Did I cross the line?" Bill asked with a frown of concern.

Blanche managed a soft laugh. "Oh, no," she said with an evasive shake of the head. Looking up at Bill's handsome face through her tearful eyes, Blanche smiled. "I haven't been so happy in twenty years."


	4. Chapter 3

_**Just a brief reminder of something mentioned at the end of this chapter: in the book, Jane didn't bring her sister Blanche's dead canary and a rat. Instead, she brought a dead bird she'd most likely found in the garden and later a perfectly good meal covered with fine, white sand.**_

_**But now it's time to meet the second protagonist of this story! :)**_

* * *

Lynn White sat down in the last vacant chair and looked sideways at the other women in the room. She'd been shown into the house and the hallway by a nice man who'd told her to wait until Miss Hudson was ready to see her. He'd apologized on the woman's behalf for the inconvenience of waiting, but with all the calls for the maid's position, the times of the interviews had somehow gotten mixed up. So now she would have to wait.

When Lynn had first seen the ad in the paper, she had naturally concluded that Blanche Hudson must be a rich woman to be able to afford a maid. But seeing the house now—a brilliant ageless fortress of faded glamour—she was forced to change her judgement to "very rich". She could have been one of those lucky heiresses with an insanely successful businessman for a father.

There were five other women in the room with her. A black woman in her forties was knitting. A tired older lady looked as if she was struggling to keep her eyes open. And then there was a young brunette jitterbug who somehow seemed to manage to look at both of the women she was sitting next to at the same time and talk.

"I didn't really believe it at first. Can you imagine? Me! At Blanche Hudson's house! The Blanche Hudson! I sure hope she ain't as mad as they say her sister is. I mean, I know she was the victim, but you never know, do you?"

The rest of her words were lost to her as Lynn finally started to put the pieces together. She had thought the name had sounded familiar when she'd read it in the paper. Blanche Hudson was one of Lynn's mother's favourite actresses, and Lynn herself had seen all the old pictures they'd shown on TV these last two months. Her mother had anxiously followed the news in the papers, concerning the Hudson sisters. The whole story came crashing back to her as Lynn strained her ears to hear what else the brunette had to say. However, her thoughts were racing in her mind. She was in Blanche Hudson's house and about to be interviewed for a job as her maid!

After the first shock had worn off, Lynn began to wonder what Miss Hudson should look like now. When she'd seen her movies, Lynn had thought Blanche Hudson was the most beautiful woman in the whole world. But she had been forced to retire more than twenty years ago. She would be a lot older now, and who knows what her sister could have done to her in her mad jealousy. Lynn decided to prepare herself to meet an old woman—in every sense of the word.

One by one the women were asked into what Lynn guessed must have been the living room. They stayed for a few minutes, and then left with a distant expression of admiration on their face. When the black lady started to leave, Lynn mustered up enough courage to ask her how it had gone. The lady answered that Miss Hudson had been insecure.

Lynn waited and waited. The young jitterbug entered the room and left. Lynn had a feeling she hadn't stopped talking for a moment.

When the nice-looking man finally opened the door for her, Lynn was the last person in the room. After the last lady had left, she'd begun to fidget nervously. Lynn had no idea what she should say at a job interview, furthermore, one with Blanche Hudson. She'd only ever worked at her mother's laundry, and never before in her twenty one years had she had to go to a job interview.

Lynn looked up at the man hesitantly, but he was not looking at her. In the doorway, he had turned back to face the living room.

"Is that the last of them?" a female voice carried to Lynn, and she was petrified with recognition.

"Just one more, Miss Hudson," the man replied, and turned to face the last occupant of the corridor with a friendly smile.

"I'm getting tired of them coming in here and staring at me as if I were an animal in a zoo." The voice of Blanche Hudson sounded weary, and Lynn felt the sudden urge to get up and leave the grand house. If Miss Hudson didn't want to see her, what was the point of going in to meet her?

"Come on in, Miss," the man called encouragingly, and beckoned for Lynn to enter the living room.

Keeping her head decidedly low and clutching tightly at her purse, Lynn stood and walked stiffly over to where the man was standing. She passed him with a silent nod of acknowledgement and entered the large living room. The man closed the door behind her, and Lynn realized he had left her to face Blanche Hudson alone.

Lynn White was rarely scared of meeting new people, and after having seen so many of her pictures she reckoned she shouldn't be of meeting Miss Hudson. But the former movie star's words had stung deeper than she'd thought. She couldn't even look up at Miss Hudson's face.

Her eyes registered the wheel chair and the deep wine red dress that was covering a pair of stiff lean legs. However, she didn't dare look at her face, lest she saw annoyance or even disdain in the old woman's eyes.

"Hello," Blanche Hudson said softly. She sounded awfully pleasant.

"Hello," Lynn replied mechanically.

There was a silence, and Lynn figured the actress must be looking her over. She knew she was not exactly movie star material, but she'd never considered her blonde hair and relatively slim body to be something to look at for longer than a moment. Even if the actress found her homely, she shouldn't have taken so long to regard her.

"Won't you sit down?" Finally, the words came, and gratefully, Lynn dropped onto the sofa closest to her. She held on to her purse with cramped fingers and tried to mentally fight against her nervous habit of chewing on her lower lip.

"I suppose you must be Lynn White," said Miss Hudson. Her voice was so gentle and melodious it was almost unbearable not to look at her.

"Yes," Lynn replied quietly.

There was another, longer silence. It was almost scary how quiet it could get in this house. The only things keeping Lynn from getting up and leaving were her need for employment and the good-natured tone of voice Miss Hudson had just used. No one who had such a charming voice could really be an unpleasant person.

"Is everything all right, Miss White?" Miss Hudson broke the silence in a concerned tone. "You haven't looked at me once since you came in that door."

Lynn felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. Never mind what she'd heard in the corridor, she hadn't realized that deliberately not looking at Miss Hudson would be considered even more ill-mannered than staring at her.

"I just..." she managed, annoyed at herself for the plainness of her voice compared to Miss Hudson's. "I didn't want to make you feel like an animal in a zoo. I heard you say that earlier," she explained apologetically. To her great relief, the response she got was a soft amused chuckle from the actress.

"You're honest," Miss Hudson stated. Her smile was even audible in her voice. "I like that. But of course you can look at me, Miss White. Or am I really that scary?"

In her hurry to make her mistake right, Lynn's head snapped up, and words started pouring quickly from her lips. "No! You're not! Not scary. You're..." She stopped abruptly as she finally dared to look at the other woman.

And she was nothing like what Lynn had imagined. Instead of the old, wrinkled face she had feared, there was a mask of waxen beauty with the same high cheekbones and voluminous lips as the young woman on the screen some twenty-odd years ago had possessed. Instead of dull, tired orbs, there were lovely light blue eyes, filled with the same lively glimmer as years before and a considerable amount of wisdom only the passing of years could have provided her with. Her expression was one of good-natured curiosity, a friendly smile on her lips. All in all, Blanche Hudson was just as beautiful as she had used to be, perhaps even more so now that life and experience had softened her features.

"… beautiful."

Blanche Hudson blinked her bright eyes in mild surprise, and her smile grew. "Thank you."

* * *

A soft humming accompanied the footsteps that Blanche heard approaching her room. And these footsteps weren't the slouching, tired ones Blanche had gotten used to living with Jane. They were light and airy strides of a young girl. Blanche turned in her chair to face the doorway. Her new maid had just entered.

"Good morning, Miss Blanche," she chanted happily, striding over to the desk with her breakfast tray.

Lynn White was a pretty young girl, with a slightly chubby face, bright blue eyes, and an adorable smile. She'd done up her blonde hair and put on a lovely pastel green dress. Of all the women Blanche had seen about the job, Lynn had been the last, and also the only one she'd immediately liked. She had seen jitterbugs and glory hounds, gossiping fans and lazy youngsters, but the minute the shy young blonde had walked in, Blanche had felt like they could become friends. They'd quickly established a comfortable relationship and agreed on the terms of Lynn's employment. She was more than happy to not have to travel between work and home; Blanche had put her in one of the long-unused guest rooms just across the gallery from her own room.

"Good morning, Lynn," Blanche replied with a warm smile. It was so easy to be nice to someone who was nice in return.

Lynn left the tray on the desk and proceeded to close the window Blanche had had her open the night before. "Miss Blanche?" she said without turning around to look at her. "I wonder. How can you get dressed all by yourself? I mean… I'd thought you'd need help, but you're clearly very independent." Lynn finished with a kind of reserved expression, indicating she'd let the words leave her mouth before considering them.

"Well," Blanche smiled at her innocent curiosity. "I'm not exactly dressed, am I?" Lynn's eyes fell on the robe she was wearing. "I have had to learn to do a lot of things on my own," she admitted. "But I'm afraid with the dress I'll still need your help."

"Of course," Lynn nodded, and made haste towards the door. "I'll be back when you're finished, shall I?"

Blanche glanced over to the breakfast tray, and her head suddenly began to spin just a little. She knew all right that there couldn't possibly be anything unpleasant under the cover upon the plate. But nevertheless, her raised hand was suddenly seized by such a trembling that Lynn must have also noticed it.

"Is everything all right, Miss Blanche?" she asked concernedly, leaving the doorway once again.

Blanche swallowed her dizziness and nodded stiffly. "Yes," she spoke thinly. Looking up at the young woman beside her, she made a feeble attempt at smiling. "Could you..." she said shakily. "Could you please lift the cover yourself?"

Lynn's eyes widened slightly at the request, but she reached over without a word and lifted the covering cloth from the warm toast.

Blanche let out a small relieved sigh. "Thank you."

Lynn studied her odd expression for a long moment. Blanche looked up to find her watching her. Feeling awfully silly, she realized she should explain. If Lynn was going to live with her, she ought to know what she was in for.

"My sister," Blanche confided in a small voice, "Jane… She brought me a dead bird." She closed her eyes at the sickening memory, as Lynn gasped in horror.


	5. Chapter 4

_**I hope you can forgive me for being absent for so long! I've been visiting my friend at her country house with unspeakable Internet conditions. Since I'm back home now, I'll try and be more active when it comes to this story. :)**_

* * *

Lynn opened her eyes in the dead of night, and was greeted by an unsettling silence. There was a dim light from the window and it helped her make out the indistinct outlines of the furniture in the room. For the second night in a row she'd awoken to find herself in an unfamiliar room, only to be reminded yet again that she was not in her own home where she'd had to share a room with all of her three siblings. She was, instead, in Blanche Hudson's house, earning her wages as a personal maid. The fact made her feel all fluttery and proud every time she thought of it. "Personal maid" sounded so… personal. So important.

Regardless of what Lynn had first thought Miss Hudson would be like, she was instead a lovely and kind woman. Perhaps it was because she'd seen so many of her pictures, but Lynn felt like she had known Blanche Hudson for a long time. She was just so easy to get along with and so good to talk to.

As she lay awake in bed, Lynn completely and blissfully forgot what she'd thought had woken her, until she heard it again.

"Jane!" It was barely a name, but rather than that it sounded like an agonized cry for help.

Lynn shot out of bed with speed she had never believed herself capable of. Grabbing her robe from the chair next to the bed, she dashed out of her bedroom and into the gallery.

The cry came again, only this time it was more desperate and yet a lot quieter.

Ripping open the door, Lynn burst into the dark room and looked over to the bed she could hardly see in the shadows. Muffled sobs came from that direction, and no matter how little time they'd known each other, Lynn felt the sudden and powerful urge to go to Blanche and simply pull her into her embrace.

"Miss Blanche?" she asked in a small tone, ready to leave if the woman in the bed should tell her to. But instead new words of fright and pained desperation sounded. Lynn's ears caught words like, "Stop… Please… Oh, Jane, don't…" And in a quick reaction to the woman's distressed sobs, Lynn rushed over to the bed.

"Miss Blanche!" she called as she sat down hastily on the edge of the bed. Switching on the bedside lamp, she came face to face with a Blanche Hudson whose expression was contorted in agony, and whose eyes were squeezed tightly shut.

"Wake up!" Lynn tried again, reaching out for the sleeping woman, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her to save her from her nightmarish delusion. "Miss Blanche, wake up!"

Blanche's eyes shot wide open and in them Lynn saw such wild, animalistic fear that she was momentarily tempted to take off herself. It seemed to take Blanche a few moments to recognize Lynn, but once she had, she pushed herself up and swung her arms around the younger woman's neck, clinging on to her like a drowning man clings to a piece of floating wood.

Lynn responded instantly, pulling her closer to herself. A curious warm feeling filled her and she felt like a mother comforting a frail and scared child.

Blanche's sobs didn't die down for quite a while, but once they did, Lynn lowered her back to the pillows and turned off the light.

It was too painful to look at Blanche's tearful and horrified face. No one deserved to feel so frightened in their own bed, in their own home. In addition to the deep sorrow she felt for Blanche, Lynn felt a boiling hatred building inside her for Jane Hudson. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, she thought, that could make her forgive Jane for doing what she had to her sweet, fragile and kind-hearted sister.

* * *

Pushing the wheel chair out onto the sunlit terrace, Lynn looked over the small backyard of Miss Blanche's house. It had obviously not been taken care of in quite a while, but nevertheless, it was a nice way to get out of the house.

Blanche sought out her hand behind her shoulder as she'd grown accustomed to doing in the last five days, the time Lynn had been with her. And knowing very well what that delicate hold on her hand meant, Lynn walked over to the other side of the wheel chair, and like she'd done ever since she was a little child, sat down on the floor. That way she could look up at Miss Blanche, the way that she deserved to be looked at.

Blanche was smiling. "Thank you for bringing me out here," she said, squinting her eyes in the sun. "Jane almost never did. I've missed being outside."

As Blanche tilted her head to meet the bright afternoon sun, Lynn pondered over her words. And the more she thought about them, the more she became astounded with Blanche. Lynn felt like she couldn't keep it inside her any longer.

"Miss Blanche, I admire you," she burst out, suddenly breaking the comfortable silence between them. Blanche looked down at her in delighted surprise. "I mean, after everything you've been through, everything your sister has done to you, you're still so kind and so lively. And you never even mention how much you hate her! I mean, if I'd been through what you've been, I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it. I can't even stop thinking about Jane Hudson. Boy, am I glad you were finally able to put her away." She finally stopped when she realised that instead of the sad or perhaps hurt expression she'd been anticipating, Blanche's look was one of sheer anger.

"Stop it, Lynn!" she ordered much louder than she usually spoke and definitely in a much more heated way. "Just stop it!"

Taken aback by Blanche's fierce tone and exceptionally displeased frown, Lynn leaned farther away and tried to somehow make herself smaller under the other woman's fiery glare.

For another ten seconds or so, Blanche continued to stare at her young maid, enraged thoughts racing in her mind. She had tried her best to shield herself from all the negative opinions the public might harbour for Jane, but to hear it from her sweet and considerate Lynn was awfully disappointing. Finally, Blanche averted her gaze from the girl's shocked face, and took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Lynn," she eventually said in a small, even tender manner, "you didn't know Jane. You must never talk like that about people you don't know. What happened between me and Jane is completely our own matter. I'd like for you not to worry your young head about it. And I don't want to hear you speaking of Jane that way ever again." She looked at Lynn with sharp suspicion that made her look a whole lot more frightening than she'd have wanted. "Do I make myself clear?"

Instantly, Lynn nodded, the stunned expression never leaving her features. Blanche considered telling her she was not mad at her, but abruptly decided against it as it might have prevented her message from sinking in. And so, Blanche turned to look over at the old eucalyptus tree that swayed in the gentle wind and looked completely different from down here than from her barred window.

Minutes passed in silence and Blanche begun to feel warm in the insistent sun. But Lynn hadn't said a word and Blanche concluded she must still be in shock from her outburst earlier. Finally, Blanche turned towards the younger woman again, and found to her great surprise that Lynn had been watching her.

And with a single tear rolling down her cheek, Lynn whispered, "I'm sorry, Miss Blanche. You must really love her."


	6. Chapter 5

Blanche snapped the photo album closed and placed it in the box next to others identical to this one. She'd been afraid Jane had thrown out most of her old stuff, but to her great delight she hadn't destroyed almost anything of hers. She'd merely put it somewhere out of sight. The clearest example of that was the empty frame above the fireplace where Jane could have hung her own portrait if she'd wanted to. Blanche had wondered about that at first. Maybe it had been more gratifying for Jane to see the empty frame her sister's portrait had once occupied than to see her own picture there.

It was not easy to keep thinking about Jane. Each time she did, Blanche ended up thinking what they could be doing to her now, and what Jane must be feeling.

"Where should I put these?" Lynn's voice came from behind her, and Blanche turned her eyes to the large mirror in front of her and the young woman's reflection in it. Lynn was holding a packet of what seemed like old sheet music of Jane's.

"Oh, any box with Jane's things will do," Blanche replied, returning to the cupboard she was currently emptying. "I'll have time to decide what to do with them in the new house."

Lynn nodded her head quickly, and set about to leave the room, but then she hesitated. "Miss Blanche?"

Blanche looked up at her insecure tone. "Yes?"

"You haven't told me what will become of me once you've settled into your new home," Lynn said, idly sitting down on one of the larger boxes. "If it's a single-storey, you won't need me to help you upstairs or..."

"Oh, Lynn." Blanche set down the photographs she'd been about to go through, and reached down to the wheels of her chair. Swinging around, she looked with a warm smile at the hesitant-looking girl across the room from her. "I'll still need your help," she said, wheeling herself towards her maid. "I thought it was understood that it's not just going to be my new home, but yours too. A smaller house would mean less work for you. I thought you'd like that." She stopped in front of the gradually brightening girl. "Would you like to move into a smaller house with me?"

Lynn let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and smiled happily. "Of course, Miss Blanche," she said with bubbling excitement. "I'd love that!" Lynn could barely keep herself from jumping forward and hugging the older woman. The last thing she'd wanted to do was to have to move back in with her family after her first taste of freedom, and start looking for a new job once Miss Blanche was settled in her new house.

"But," she added with a flicker of doubt, "how far were you thinking of moving?" Blanche's face took on an enquiring expression. "My family lives in Los Angeles, and I'd hate to move too far away from them. My father has not been well lately."

Blanche addressed her with an encouraging smile. "You have nothing to worry about; we're not even going to leave town."

* * *

The house was a small white building with wide windows and a very decent-looking front porch. There were two steps up to the front door, but the house was a single-storey just as planned. Small purple flowers beside the footpath, a white honeysuckle and a wild grapevine climbing the facade next to the door gave the house a sunny and welcoming look.

Blanche marvelled at the small fairy house in blissful silence for a moment or two, until she heard an excited little squeal from behind her. Looking up, she came face to face with pure joy itself. Lynn's eyes were pleading with her persistently.

"The moving truck should be here any minute," Blanche said, concealing her contentment with the house with diplomatic kindness. "You may go explore until then."

Lynn's face lit up with girlish enthusiasm, and giving Blanche a small grateful nod, she took off across the front porch and towards the house.

Blanche chuckled with amusement. The young woman in Lynn had been turned in the blink of an eye into an adventurous little girl. It was delightful to be surrounded by happy people, and Lynn was the happiest, most optimistic girl Blanche had ever known, except maybe for Margaret Carroll.

Blanche looked ahead and watched as Lynn tore open the front door and dashed inside, leaving the door wide open behind her. Glancing around quickly, she ran straight ahead, through the spacious living room and the wide gallery beyond and right out of the terrace door. Even from where she was seated Blanche could see that the other side of the house had tall windows nearly covering the whole of the wall. Sunlight was pouring into the house, and with the front door opened Blanche could see straight through the house. Lynn had slowed down in the garden.

The sound of a car door closing startled Blanche out of her happy reverie. She recognized the footsteps on the pavement immediately.

"Do you like it?" asked Bert Hanley with a tone of self-satisfied pride, walking up beside Blanche. His floppy hat shielded his eyes from the sunlight, but Blanche knew they were bound to be glimmering with anticipation. Ever since Blanche had finally called him and told him to sell the old house and find her a new one, Bert had warmed up to her again. It was almost as if the years that had torn their comfortable friendship apart hadn't been.

"Oh, I love it," Blanche sighed blissfully. "It's exactly what I dreamed about." She smiled up at the man by her side trustingly. "I knew you would find me a perfect house."

"Well, you described your wishes pretty well," Bert replied. "And after seeing that old gloomy place again, I understood perfectly how much you needed a change of scenery." Bert looked to the house, probably noticing the young happy woman floating around behind the windows. "Aren't you going to go inside?"

"Of course." Blanche's hands moved mechanically to the wheels of her chair but she didn't move. "But my maid ran off," she added quietly when Lynn appeared in the doorway again.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Hanley!" she called cheerfully, skipping back towards the street. "This is wonderful! Miss Blanche, it's so beautiful! The garden is huge! We're gonna need Miss Pauline's help if we want it to stay that pretty. Oh, look! The truck's here! Do you want me to take you inside, Miss Blanche? You have to see everything!" She took a long blissful breath at the end of her ecstatic monologue.

"Not inside, Lynn. To that beautiful garden." Blanche smiled brilliantly. Everything seemed to be going better after she'd left the hospital. It was a new beginning. And Blanche was positive she deserved it.


	7. Chapter 6

One by one the two women opened boxes and took out pieces of decoration, kitchen utensils, books and photo albums. Lynn gasped in admiration every time she or Blanche discovered something pretty; and the young woman found nearly all of Blanche's fancy things pretty.

"This one has to stand on the mantelpiece!" Lynn made a quick decision about an old Italian vase. "Right next to that stunning portrait of you in that silver-grey dress."

"I already told you, I will not have my picture up there. I'd feel so vain." Blanche made a displeased face.

But Lynn had gotten a lot braver since she'd been told Blanche was not about to dispose of her any time soon. "Of course you'll have it up there! It's not even up for discussion. It must be hung there. You'd be very selfish if you didn't let me see that beautiful picture up there all the time."

There were three men carrying in the furniture Blanche had decided to take with her from the old house. They grunted under the heavy liquor cabinet.

"Why would you have this thing brought in? You don't even drink."

"For company, Lynn. And I'm sure you're old enough to drink. I wouldn't mind, as long as you behaved responsibly."

At some point Blanche looked up form her boxful of needlework and knitting, and found Lynn engrossed in some old papers yellow with age. She realized that the girl had turned unnaturally quiet.

"What have you found?" she asked, causing Lynn to avert her eyes from the papers.

"I figured this is some of your sister's old sheet music." Lynn gathered up a bunch of papers, which Blanche could now see indeed had music written on them. "There's a boxful of them here. Are you going to keep them?"

Blanche could suddenly picture a very disappointed and displeased Jane stomping her foot in the middle of the new sunlit living room. She shook her head to escape the vision. "Yes. Jane would want me to. You said there was a small basement, didn't you? You could take them there."

Lynn's face took on an expression of hurt bewilderment. "Don't you want to use them?" she enquired.

Blanche shook her head quickly as the memory of that one time she'd tried to sing and dance like Jane did threatened to emerge from the blur of her childhood memories. "I don't sing. And especially not Jane's songs."

She saw disappointment settling into Lynn's features as she set the sheet music back into the box. For a while she seemed completely stricken, but Blanche didn't know any way to help make her feel better.

"The piano..." Lynn soon muttered, and turned her eyes to Blanche again. The actress was surprised to see an excited glint in them again. "What were you planning to do with the piano?"

Unmoved by the question but curious about the origin of Lynn's excitement, Blanche said, "I don't know. I guess I'll have to sell it. There's no use bringing it here, is there?"

To her shock, Lynn jumped up and dashed forward, bringing her hands together in front of her. "Oh, please, let them bring it here!" she breathed feverishly.

Blanche stared at the hectic girl in perplexity. "I didn't know you could play," she said blankly. "I've hard you humming a tune or two, but I didn't know you enjoyed music that much."

"I can't play very well," Lynn admitted, settling down again but with the excitement not once leaving her face or tone. "But a piano in the house makes it feel so much more like a home. And I could learn new songs with it—Jane's songs, if you wouldn't mind. I could sing to you if you wanted. Although I don't even know if you like music."

Opening a box filled with records, Blanche smiled. "How could I not?"

And so the piano was brought over into the large living room of the new house and Blanche's portrait was hung above the mantelpiece.

* * *

"Bert said he'd found a good buyer for the house. Soon it will finally be out of my life for good."

"Had you wanted to leave for a long time?" Lynn asked, pouring herself and Blanche some more peppermint tea—a favourite of both of theirs, she had discovered.

"I should have left right after the accident," Blanche admitted. "I know that now. But I couldn't. I thought I needed that house to remember all the good things I'd had in life. It was just before Jane got worse that I'd finally realized I'd been wrong the entire time. The house wasn't making me feel any better. I decided then that it was time to move on, to make a new life for myself, and allow Jane to have one. But then she got worse."

Blanche drowned her next words in her cup of tea, irritated at herself for having said just what she'd been thinking without considering her words. All this packing and unpacking, going through old things was making her remember everything, think about everything—her life before the accident, her rotten childhood, Jane. Lynn was being unnaturally quiet. She must have understood how hard it was for Blanche to revisit the past.

"I don't even want to go back to Hillside Terrace and see the old place again. But I do want to see Pauline and her garden for one more time. She's promised to keep in touch, but it's hard for me to imagine her apart from that dear garden of hers."

* * *

Blanche wheeled herself through the gallery and past the sofas in the living room, glancing over to her right to find Lynn seated idly at the kitchen table. At the sight of the actress the young woman jumped to her feet.

"Why are you all dressed up, Lynn?" Blanche asked casually, pulling on her small white fur coat.

Lynn made a surprised face. "You said we were going to Miss Jane's sanatorium, didn't you?"

Blanche looked over to her with a kind of gentle resolution. "No," she explained. "I'm going to Jane's sanatorium. Alone."

"But… I'm coming with you!" Lynn protested hastily, coming forward.

"No, you're not." There was a certain softness to her tone, but she spoke unwaveringly. "This is something I have to do alone. Besides," she added gently, "that's no place for a young woman like you."

Seeing that Lynn was about to protest again, Blanche intervened first. "I will be back for lunch. I'll probably be tired and upset, so I'll need someone to welcome me back home."

The sound of a car approaching caught Blanche's ears, and she looked up expectantly. "That should be my taxi. Will you take me out there?"


	8. Chapter 7

The sanatorium was a clean and tidy place. The people she saw in the corridors passed Blanche a kind smile, and Blanche started to feel that maybe she'd done right to put Jane in this place.

Blanche had called ahead and told the lady at the reception desk that she'd be arriving to see the head doctor. A nice passer-by had helped her up the steps to the front door and into the foyer. Once inside, she'd been instructed to take the elevator to the third floor.

Blanche read the signs on the doors attentively. When she'd finally reached the last door at the end of the corridor, before she could even read the sign, the door was swung open, and Blanche saw a tall figure towering over her. The man noticed her too late, walking into her chair and nearly falling over before he caught himself between the door frame and the armrest of Blanche's wheel chair.

Blanche sunk back in her chair in scare. The man straightened up quickly, and looked down at the startled woman with a frown. Blanche found it hard to determine whether he was annoyed or embarrassed—maybe both. "Forgive me, Miss," he muttered distantly. "If you've come to see me, you'd better wait in my office. I'll be with you soon, but right now I'm needed elsewhere." Leaving the door open for Blanche—or maybe simply in his haste—the man stepped around the wheel chair and strode hurriedly down the hall.

Bewildered, Blanche looked at him go until he turned a corner and was out of sight. She hadn't felt the collision physically for the man had stumbled against her legs, but the least he could have done was ask if she was all right. And yet it was somehow reassuring to know that not everyone would stop and treat her differently because of her incapability.

Blanche turned in her chair and finally dared to look into the room the man had left. Her hands moved to the wheels at her sides and she entered slowly. Looking around for someone to ask about the doctor, Blanche realized she was alone in the large office. The sign on the desk said, "Dr. Brown."

And suddenly Blanche had a feeling she should have brought Lynn. The man she'd met earlier had somehow managed to shatter her confidence. If that was Dr. Brown and they were going to talk about Jane, she feared her prediction might have been right—she would return home upset.

Minutes passed in silence as Blanche sat alone in the office, looking around, studying the room. It was a tidy and light place; a vase with orange lilies was standing on the windowsill. At some point Blanche realized she couldn't see a chair behind the desk, and bending down to look under the desk, she saw it lying on its side. The doctor must have really been in a rush. The clock on the wall filled the empty silence with its constant quiet ticking. Blanche began to feel restless, her hands clasping at the fabric of her dress nervously.

It must have been at least twenty if not thirty minutes until something disrupted Blanche's idly wandering train of thought. And the disruption came through the office door with such haste, shattering the brooding silence with such undue vigour that Blanche jumped in her chair most unbecomingly.

"I apologize, Miss, for having you wait for so long," the man who'd entered said apologetically as he made his way over to the desk. He picked up his chair, set it down and took a seat, all the while keeping his piercing eyes fixed on Blanche. "My assistance was needed with a patient."

Dr. Brown was a tall and well-built man in his forties, with creamy blonde hair and impressive bushy eyebrows. Now that he was calmer and Blanche had a better chance to look at him, she realized there was actually a certain kindness in his chestnut-brown eyes. The hardened features and a few lines in his face must have been the result of his work in a facility like this one. All in all, Blanche's sour opinion of the man changed immediately.

And while Blanche took a moment to analyse him, Dr. Brown got a chance to study the woman before him as well. "You must be Miss Blanche Hudson," he presumed, reaching out his hand towards her. "Dr. Brown," he introduced himself, at which Blanche nodded and accepted his handshake.

"It's nice to meet you," she replied with the beginning of a smile on her face. "I hope he is all right now." She nearly chuckled at the dumbfounded look on the doctor's face.

"Who?"

"The patient you were seeing," Blanche explained, gaining a small laugh from the doctor.

"Oh, yes," he said in understanding. "She is okay now."

"Good," Blanche replied automatically. But after a beat she realized with sudden dread that it was time for her to talk about why she had come. And for some odd reason it felt almost like an impossible task. How could she even start to ask what she wanted to know? How could she discuss Jane while she still felt so awfully guilty about everything that had become of her? Feeling absurdly insecure, Blanche lowered her gaze to the desk and focused her eyes on the pen that lay abandoned on a few sheets of paper.

"The reason I've come, doctor," she began, irritatedly aware of the tremble in her voice, "is that… I… I wanted to…" But try as she might, not even if she'd have been able to speak properly, she wouldn't have known what to say, where to start. She let out a disappointed sigh. Knowing that the man at the other side of the desk was waiting patiently for her to continue didn't help one bit.

Luckily, Dr. Brown was not just a bit but a lot more understanding than his first impression on Blanche had led on. "You wanted to know how your sister was doing, isn't that it?" he offered kindly, gratified to see some of the helplessness begin to leave Blanche Hudson's face. "You wanted to know if she was well; if she was treated well; if, when, and how you could possibly help her yourself. Am I right?"

Blanche was forced to admit that he was indeed better at knowing people than sometimes they were themselves—a necessary quality in a doctor. "You are," she answered quietly, remembering to blink her eyes for she had begun staring at Dr. Brown as he'd spoken. "I would, indeed, like to know all that."

Dr. Brown nodded self-assuredly; of course, he'd known he'd struck a chord at presuming the woman's thoughts. "Well, Miss Hudson," he started, altering his tone to a formal one, "the thing of it is, your sister's condition is much more complicated than what you described when you committed her."

"I was forced to," Blanche blurted out in a sudden need to justify herself. Lowering her eyes again, she added more quietly, "There was nothing else to do."

"And it was a good thing you did, too," Dr. Brown reassured her. "She is better off here where we can help her than outside where she and others around her are not safe."

Blanche wanted to say something in Jane's defence, but there was truth in the doctor's words—harsh and solid truth that was so awfully painful to listen to. "So, how is she?" she asked carefully. There was absolutely no point whatsoever in dwelling on the past; what was done was done, and it could only have been for the better.

"Miss Hudson," Dr. Brown started grimly, drawing a deep breath, "we are doing the best we can for your sister. These things take time."

Blanche studied his troubled face with open curiosity.

"In this short time Miss Jane has been here, she hasn't made any significant progress. In cases like this it usually gets worse before it gets better. I'm sure you're familiar with what I'm talking about. All you really need to know right now, Miss Hudson, is that we're giving Miss Jane all the help she needs, and there is nothing for you to worry about. In fact, it would be, for all parties concerned, best if you didn't interfere at all for a while."

Whilst talking, Dr. Brown had leaned forward behind his desk, bringing his piercing eyes and the convincing look in them closer to Blanche's insecure face. He spoke in a cordial voice, which to some point made him quite successful in keeping his vis-à-vis calm as well. It took Blanche a long moment to stop nodding in silent understanding and realize the full meaning of the doctor's words. Once she did, however, her jaw dropped just so that it made her lips part in a stunned gasp. The soft breath of words left her a few seconds after she'd planned it to. "What are you saying, doctor?"

Dr. Brown continued with a compassionate expression, "I'm requesting that you try and forget about your sister for a while, and focus on your own life. That will give the both of you time to heal, especially you, Miss Hudson. There's no need to look at me like that; I read the papers. And as I was saying, it would also be good for Miss Jane to go through her treatment without any disturbing factors."

Blanche frowned in annoyance. "Am I a disturbing factor?"

"In this scenario, yes," the doctor replied firmly, untouched by the hurt in the woman's tone.

A short but unsettling—at least on Blanche's part—silence followed, and Blanche struggled to push the probably unintentional insult out of her mind. It was almost annoying that the doctor was so right about everything. She did need rest, and Jane was probably better off without her. But this was already the longest they'd been apart in all of their lives.

"How long are we talking about?" she soon asked, pulling herself together to not sound as miserable as she was feeling.

Dr. Brown fixed her with a resolute look. "At least five or six months. Maybe more. We will contact you when the time is right."

* * *

When the sound of the car pulling to a stop in the street reached Lynn's ears, the young woman fled from the kitchen, and fast as lightning yanked open the front door. Farther ahead, the taxi driver was already helping Blanche out of the car and into her wheel chair. Barefoot as she was, Lynn crossed the lawn and approached them.

Blanche caught a glimpse of her coming forward, so she dismissed the driver with a grateful nod, and turned in her chair to meet her maid's brilliant smile. "Hi, Lynn," she said warmly.

The young woman quickly took her place behind Blanche's wheel chair and began taking her to the house. Leaning closer to the actress's ear, she admitted trustingly, "It feels so wrong in the house without you."


	9. Chapter 8

Blanche made her way through the gallery and into the conjoined kitchen and living room. Lynn turned on her heel at the kitchen island, a wide smile on her face, and dropped the telephone on the receiver. "Good morning, Miss Blanche!" she beamed, and crossed over to the stove. "Did you sleep well?"

Blanche watched her overturn a pancake and remembered with an increasing feeling of hunger that she hadn't touched her dinner last night. "Not really," she admitted absently, pulling her robe tighter around herself. "I had one of my nightmares again." At Lynn's sympathetic look, she hurried to reassure her, "It's nothing to worry about. They're getting rarer."

Lynn returned her attention to the stove. "The visit to the sanatorium couldn't have helped."

"It had to be done," Blanche justified weakly. "At least now I know for certain that Jane is taken care of." She frowned at the memory of being told she couldn't see her sister and should keep out of the way. Dr. Brown had been as kind as he could, but it hadn't eased Blanche's disappointment.

Shaking her head slightly, she banished the thoughts from her mind, focusing again on the delicious smell coming from the stove. "Anyway," she continued in a lighter tone. "What's the occasion?" Lynn gave her an inquisitive look, and Blanche gestured towards the frying pan in the girl's hand.

"Oh, nothing really," Lynn answered with a light laugh. "I just had a feeling I'd like to give the both of us a little treat. God knows you deserve it after going to that awful place yesterday."

Blanche shook her head with a small amused smile. "I've told you it was all clean and safe." Her face took on a sly smirk. "But I wouldn't say no to the treat. Can I help?"

Lynn cast her a surprised look but nodded. "You could set the table if you wanted to," she offered, turning back to the stove once again when the unpleasant smell of a burnt pancake reached her.

Feeling a glad satisfaction at being able to help, Blanche steered her chair into the large kitchen, and stopped to open the door of a cupboard. She waited until Lynn's quick frustrated movements calmed behind her and, figuring that she'd saved the burnt cake, asked, "Who was on the telephone?" She picked two plates from a shelf in the cupboard and placed them safely in her lap.

"I wanted to tell you at the breakfast table," Lynn replied in a secretive tone. "It was Mr. Carroll."

Blanche's face lit up with pure delight. "Oh, really?" she enquired. "What did he say?" She opened a drawer and added two pairs of forks and knives to the plates on her lap.

"He asked you to go to the theatre with him," Lynn said, failing to hide the excitement in her tone. Blanche turned to find her watching her with a wicked grin.

"Why, that's very nice of him," Blanche said happily, paying no mind to her maid's indicative expression. She steered out of the kitchen and to the dining table on the other side of the counter.

"But he's bringing his wife," Lynn added, slightly disappointed at Blanche's dull reaction, but not yet given up on receiving one. "And he's asked me to come, too."

Sensing what the girl was getting at with her suggestive tone, Blanche shrugged her shoulders and resumed setting the table. "I wouldn't have it any other way," she said calmly.

Her words were nearly deadened by the loud whistle of the kettle. Lynn moved to pick it up and pouted. "But aren't you in the least disappointed that he's not going with you alone?"

"Why would I be?" Blanche replied in a carefree tone, approaching the cupboard again to receive the two tea cups Lynn was holding out to her.

"I thought there was an old love story between the two of you," Lynn admitted, the disappointment now evident in her voice.

"Everyone thought so," Blanche agreed. "They were all wrong. We've never been anything but good friends."

* * *

"That one, I think." Blanche pointed at one of the many dresses that Lynn had laid out on her bed. She'd sometimes wondered if she should get rid of the better part of her wardrobe, since she didn't really go out at all. But perhaps now that her life had started to take on new bright and promising colours, her decision of holding on to her pretty things would come in handy.

Lynn simply nodded her head and set about returning the rest of the dresses to the closet. Blanche noticed with quiet amusement that she was handling every one of them like a priceless piece of art.

Once all but one gown was put away carefully, Lynn skilfully helped Blanche out of her robe and into the gown she'd picked. The shoes had been an entirely different and easier choice. Lynn slipped them onto the older woman's stiff feet, feeling the already familiar blue feeling of suffocating regret.

That done, Blanche sent her to her room so she could get dressed as well. Lynn closed the door after sneaking a look back into the room and seeing Blanche in front of her vanity mirror, reaching out for her hairbrush.

It took Lynn less than ten minutes to get dressed. Lynn didn't have many fancy clothes. But God bless Blanche Hudson for having such a kind, understanding heart! Without asking any questions about Lynn's reluctance to come to the theatre, the actress had called her over to her closet and told her to pick anything she liked and wear it.

Lynn observed herself in the long mirror in her room. She'd have given anything to show off in front of her sister and mother right now. Blanche's figure-hugging golden gown was a perfect fit, probably even more so for her than for the actress, who hadn't worn it for thirty years. Thankfully, this sort of clothing never went out of fashion. With her high-heeled shoes and fabulous dress on, Lynn felt taller and amazingly slim. She never used much make-up but considered herself fine without it. She'd made up her hair in a pretty way. All in all, she was very pleased with how she'd ended up looking.

Shaking herself out of her vain thoughts, Lynn grabbed her small purse and left her room. Although she knocked, she didn't have enough patience in her to wait for an answer, so she entered the room across the gallery from hers without an invitation.

Blanche smiled at her in the mirror she was sitting at, and continued to add lipstick to the curvy line of her mouth. "You look lovely, Lynn," she said once she'd placed the lipstick in her drawer again.

Lynn dropped her purse next to Blanche's on the older woman's bed and approached her carefully. "So do you," she replied, looking at the reflection of the actress's face in awe.

Blanche smiled happily and nodded her thanks in the young woman's direction. Her expression only faltered momentarily when Lynn's hand reached over to her hair and pulled back shortly.

"There was a loose hairpin," she explained quickly, and was rewarded with another smile.

"Thank you."

Blanche turned and looked at the reflection of the two of them in the mirror. Lynn was wearing a lovely little rose-shaped necklace, her unpierced ears were stylishly plain. But there was something missing.

Blanche pulled out a drawer and from inside it a small jewellery box. She picked out a large golden hair clip in the shape of small leaves. It seemed perfect for the girl. "Come here," she ordered softly, turning towards Lynn again. The younger woman bent down, and Blanche fastened the clip to her blonde hair.

"There," she breathed, and Lynn turned her head to study herself in the mirror. Her expression changed from eternally grateful to astonished. "You look like a princess," Blanche said with delighted satisfaction.

Lynn knew she should say something to thank her. But the only thought that kept repeating itself in her mind was that Blanche was absolutely right.

* * *

Lynn answered the doorbell, flinging open the door and stepping aside to let the Carrolls inside. "Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Carroll," she said politely, and gestured for the couple to step into the large main room of the house.

"Oh, please, Miss," Mrs. Carroll said warmly, "there's no need for that. We're all friends—or will be soon—so first names will do perfectly well." She extended a hand towards the younger woman. "I'm Margaret."

Lynn accepted her hand with a smile. "Lynn," she introduced herself, although the woman must have already known who she was. The same occurred again with Mr. Carroll, only this time they were all smiling rather amusedly.

Lynn had seen William Carroll in pictures many times; unlike Blanche, he was still working, so his kind face was already familiar to the girl. Margaret Carroll was a short petite woman with curly blonde hair and a friendly smile. She had come in a knee-length lavender evening dress, and was holding a perfectly matching purse in her gloved hands. Her fur coat was very much like the one Blanche had lent Lynn, although Blanche's own could just by looking at it be classified as a much more expensive one.

"I'll just go and get Miss Blanche, and we'll be ready to go," Lynn said, backing away into the gallery for she didn't want to be as rude as to not look at the Carrolls while she was talking to them. Judging by the hour, it wouldn't have been a good idea to offer them a drink, although that would have been polite. But then they would have had to rush to be on time at the theatre.

Margaret and William were left alone in the spacious living room for no longer than a minute. "What a nice little house," the wife thought, admiring the modern kitchen.

"You know what, Maggie," Bill replied, averting his eyes from the old painting above the fireplace, "I think moving into this house has done Blanche a whole lot of good."

A sound from the gallery made them both turn in its direction, and they saw Lynn coming towards them, pushing in front of her a wheel chair with the most beautiful woman either of the Carrolls had ever seen.

Dressed in a deep wine red gown, Blanche sat there with a lovely smile upon her dark red lips. The gown's skirts covered the wasted part of her body beautifully, making it seem like she was simply sitting down to rest her legs. The bodice of the gown was stretched tightly around her slender body, the shoulder pads adding to her naturally beautiful figure. A large silver necklace adorned with countless tiny diamonds complemented her long neck, a matching pair of small earrings was fastened to her ears. Her voluminous ebony hair had been styled into an elegant coiffure, complete with a priceless diamond headpiece. It was a complete mystery how she'd done it, but with the make-up on she looked exactly like she had all those years ago, when she had still been young and capable of walking.

"Hello," Blanche beamed as if she hadn't noticed the admiring way Bill was looking at her. She extended a hand towards Margaret, and once the woman had taken it, pulled her close for a hug. "Margaret, darling, how are you? You look wonderful."

"Why, thank you, Blanche," Margaret chuckled. "You look quite ravishing yourself."

Bill waited patiently for his turn, and brought Blanche's ungloved hand to his lips. "Simply stunning."


	10. Chapter 9

_**I know haven't been around for a while now. The only thing I have to say for myself is that school has been crazy.**_

* * *

Lynn watched with amusement and half-hearted pity as the older woman made her way towards her over the neatly cut grass. The actress's face held a perfect expression of contained fury. Lynn had rarely seen Blanche annoyed, even rarer were the occasions when she was actually angry.

"I can't believe those people," the actress fumed when she reached the small garden table, where they'd had breakfast. Lynn tried very hard to conceal her grin. "I was being as polite as possible… Did you hear them, too?"

Lynn nodded her head in a solemn attempt to appear supportive.

The new house had seemed too perfect to be real. Now at least the knew what the downside of this neighbourhood was. The constant beat of a rock and roll song from the next house muffled the early morning birdsong.

"Why can't they be civil, and turn it down just a little," Blanche said with anguish, shooting a withering glance towards the neighbouring house. Lynn simply nodded again, sensing that the older woman was not finished yet. "If it was good music, I wouldn't complain," Blanche continued, reaching out for her half-empty cup of tea. "But that's not music! That is an abomination. It can't even be compared to what we were listening to just last night."

Just to calm the actress and maybe change the subject, Lynn replied," Yes, that was lovely, wasn't it?" Lynn had never been to the theatre before; it had always been a bit too fancy for the Whites' family. But Lynn had enjoyed every minute of it. Apart from perhaps Blanche Hudson's voice and Patti Page's singing, the music she'd listened to last night at the theatre had been the most heavenly sound she'd ever heard.

"Yes," Blanche smiled; apparently Lynn had succeeded in averting her thoughts from the troublesome neighbours. "We must do that again sometimes." Her face took on a blissful expression of contentment. "I asked Bill and Margaret over for dinner next week. I hope we'll be able to cook up something delightful."

Blanche had no doubt Lynn would be happy to prepare an exceeding meal; she had certainly proven her skills during the time she'd lived with the actress. And she'd certainly try and do her best; if not for any other reason, then simply because she'd had such a good time at the theatre last night.

"Of course," Lynn beamed with excitement at the opportunity to thank the Carrolls by giving them a lavish meal in return for the marvellous evening.

The shrill sound of the telephone reached them from the house, and Lynn stood instinctively. She picked up the tray with the remaining evidence of their breakfast on it, and set off towards the house.

Blanche watched the younger woman retreat into the house, and leaned back in her chair, resting her head against the back of the chair. She took a calming breath, and tried very hard to focus on the distant birdsong rather than the disturbing drumming of the radio next door or the shrill of the telephone. Thankfully, the latter stopped a moment later.

Despite the heated feelings she harboured for the neighbours, Blanche smiled. Lynn was such a naturally kind and helpful girl. Blanche had wondered on many an occasion what she had done to deserve her. Her life now could not be compared to the one she'd led for all those years with Jane.

The neighbours' radio went silent, and Blanche sighed happily, enjoying the peace that overtook the garden. The pleasant sun caressed her skin, the distant fluffy clouds sailing past, as if in fear of casting a morose shadow over the beautiful morning.

After a few blissful minutes it suddenly hit Blanche that she hadn't heard back from Lynn, and presently she couldn't catch her voice speaking on the phone either.

Turning her head to the side, Blanche looked to the house. There, nearly hidden behind the door-frame, Lynn was standing in the doorway, her face shadowed. There was an unsettling quietness about her, so uncharacteristic to her, and also very meaningful.

Blanche straightened up, turning fully towards the younger woman. "Lynn?" she asked hesitantly, studying Lynn's expression with concern. "What's the matter?"

Stepping out into the garden slowly, Lynn breathed in shudderingly and focused her eyes with great effort on the actress's face. "That was my mother," she said. There was a pregnant pause until she continued. Blanche took in her shattered expression. "She told me my father had died."

Blanche let out a small gasp of shock.

* * *

Blanche wheeled her chair next to the young woman perched forlornly on the sofa. The actress had chosen a black dress for herself, respectfully, although she had not known the man. Lynn was wearing a smart knee-length and long-sleeved black dress with a matching pair of shoes and a plain black hat. Her face held a sorrowful yet blank expression.

"Are all your siblings going to be there?" Blanche asked before an uncomfortable silence could settle between them. Lynn gave a curt nod. Blanche was a little hesitant to proceed, realizing in what a fragile state the younger woman must be. "What are they like?"

Lynn didn't answer for a long moment. It seemed to Blanche that she was pondering something very hard. "Nice," Lynn finally uttered, and a small smile appeared on her face. Reminiscing about her family seemed to somehow lighten her mood.

"Thomas is going to be a doctor," she said with a proud note to her voice. "Susan's entering law school this year. Father always told us he'd enable us to have a good education, even if we had to starve for it."

Blanche returned her smile instantly. "He sounds like a very kind person."

Lynn laughed softly. "He was the kindest and most cheerful man I know. He was very disappointed when I said I wasn't going to university. He said it was fine, but I knew he was disappointed. So when I started working for you, I took him the autographed photo I asked you for. Father had seen you in a couple of your pictures in his youth, so he recognized you." She smiled fondly at the memory. "He laughed and hugged me, telling me he was happy for me. I know he was. I felt so proud whenever he looked at me afterwards, like I'd made him proud as well."

Blanche studied her blissful expression of fond reminiscence, and couldn't help but feel the slightest twinge of envy. "I'm sure you did," she said with earnest kindness. "You know, you are very lucky to have known a loving father like him," she added, inwardly fighting against the memories of her own childhood and father. He was not worth stressing over.

Lynn sighed thinly and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. The older woman was immediately distracted from her own thoughts, and leaned closer to the girl.

"I feel a little guilty for dragging you away from him these last weeks," she said, eyeing Lynn with careful consideration of the girl's feelings. "You should have spent them with him."

Lynn's head shot up with alarm. "No, Miss Blanche!" she exclaimed with urgent conviction. "He was happy that I'd come to you, that I'd finally grown up and left the nest." Suddenly overcome with emotion, she stopped to swallow her tears. Blanche reached over and clasped her hand in hers. "I wanted nothing more than for him to be happy." Her voice broke into short, desperate sobs.

"Oh, Lynn..." Blanche pulled the younger woman to her and hugged her close. With her arms wrapped tightly around the girl's shaking body, Blanche felt an odd and unfamiliar warmth spreading through her chest. Her heart seemed to miss a beat when two hands clutched at her sides, unable to reach farther around her body from her position. Lynn buried her face in the older woman's shoulder and the aching sounds of her crying started to gradually become quieter and less frequent. Blanche felt a slight dampness in her dress where Lynn's eyes were pressed against the fabric, but she couldn't have minded less.

It was a warm and pleasant feeling that overtook her as she caressed the younger woman's head. This new closeness, however, was also so foreign, so frightening that Blanche was suddenly completely overwhelmed by the realization that she had rarely ever, and most definitely not in quite a while, felt like this—like someone actually needed and wanted her support, her love.

Love. It was such a powerful word. But cradling the young broken girl in her arms, Blanche realized this was exactly what she'd come to feel for her. There had been so few people to love in Blanche's life, and every one of them had eventually drifted away.

Looking down at the now silent girl with motherly affection, Blanche dared herself to speak. "You know, it won't be like this forever." Her soft tone made Lynn shift and fix her eyes upon the actress's face. "One day I will ask you to leave me, and you will do so gladly."

"No…" Lynn breathed in a tone of firm conviction, her eyes widening in nervous fright. "No, never, Miss Blanche!" she promised passionately.

Blanche shook her head to silence the young woman. "Lynn, listen to me," she spoke gently, reassuring the girl with a faint smile. "I don't want you to waste away your life, tending to me." She raised her hand to hush the response she saw coming from Lynn. "You are young, and that means you should be out, looking for love, and in a few years maybe even thinking of a family of your own..." Her voice trailed off at the sight of Lynn's amused expression.

"I think there's quite enough time until then..." she claimed in a voice full of mirth.

But Blanche was persistent. "One day you'll want to leave, and I won't be holding you back. Well, at least I hope so. If I do, you must remind me of what I said today. Will you promise me that you will?"

Lynn stared at her for a long moment, completely aghast at the other woman's words. Blanche could read the desperate plea and confusion in her eyes, but she would not back down, not until she got an answer. She couldn't bear it if Lynn would somehow miss out on her own life because of her. Blanche had learned her lesson with Jane.

Finally, and with her expression betraying that she was still quite unsure of the meaning behind the actress's words, Lynn nodded.


	11. Chapter 10

It had seemed like a sensible idea to allow Lynn to go to the funeral and leave her alone for the rest of the day. It couldn't be that bad, she'd reasoned; she was not completely helpless. Staring up at the faraway ceiling in the growing evening dimness, she began to doubt the reasonableness of her decision.

Lynn had promised to be back well before nightfall. Blanche couldn't bring herself to mind that she'd broken her word; the girl obviously had other things on her mind.

Blanche had also not minded preparing her own supper, a meagre one but, nevertheless, a meal. She'd actually quite enjoyed the independence, and had been quite proud of her accomplishment of doing the dishes, never mind the uncomfortable position she'd had to perform the task in.

That proud feeling was replaced by an annoyed and forlorn one as she pressed her hands against the floor and pushed herself up to a sitting position. She looked with dull resentment at the wheel chair she'd managed to knock over, trying to pull herself up from the floor. She'd sincerely believed that she'd be able to get up on her own; however, she had failed rather miserably.

Resting her back against the kitchen cupboard, Blanche glanced over to the clock way over in the hallway. It was nearly ten. With a sinking feeling, she reckoned that Lynn would probably not be coming back tonight.

Blanche let her aching head roll to one side and her hands fall powerlessly into her lap. She was quite breathless after her futile efforts to improve her situation. After a few minutes of careful contemplation of her choices for the moment, Blanche saw her vision blur as her eyelids fluttered shut.

* * *

Lynn returned home in a relatively good mood. On her way she'd decided to spend the better part of the morning baking. Blanche always said she loved the scent of freshly baked pastries in the house. It would be nice to spend some time with her in the kitchen. The older woman always made her feel so happy. She could really do with a proper dose of joy after the proceedings of the day before.

Lynn made sure to make a minimum amount of noise when she entered the house. The light in the kitchen caught her eye, and she wondered briefly if Blanche could have forgotten to switch it off the night before. Leaving her coat on a peg in the hallway, Lynn made her way further into the house, and then dropped her purse in sudden and overwhelming fright.

The wheel chair was on its side in the middle of the kitchen. Blanche's slouching figure was sitting against the cupboard in what Lynn considered to be a very uncomfortable position.

"Miss Blanche!" she exclaimed with alarm, hurrying to the actress's side. "Miss Blanche, are you okay?" She knelt down next to Blanche, whose eyes had begun to flutter open. She turned her head slowly to acknowledge the younger woman. As soon as Lynn caught the other woman's eye, apologies started pouring from her mouth.

"Oh, Miss Blanche! I am so sorry! How could I have left you alone like this? I should have never gone; I should have been here. If something had happened to you..."

As she adjusted the chair and ranted on, Lynn ignored Blanche's expression of restrained dismissal, disabling her from replying. The young woman wrapped her arms around Blanche's upper body, pulling her into a close embrace and carefully lifting the older woman from the floor.

"I would have never forgiven myself. I was so angry with myself for falling asleep on mommy's couch last night; they should have woken me up. I'll never do that again, Miss Blanche. I promise."

Tentatively setting Blanche into the now retrieved wheel chair, Lynn stopped momentarily to catch her breath. She had every intention of continuing as she straightened up, but the sensation of Blanche's hand clasping hers made her reconsider the notion. Lynn looked up at the older woman and very nearly beamed.

Blanche was watching her with a reassuring smile in her eyes and on her lips. "It's all right, Lynn," she spoke gently. "It was not your fault. It was stupid of me to fall like that."

* * *

Lynn was squatting next to the oven when Blanche returned to the kitchen. She didn't look anything like her usual merry self. Of course, that was to be expected. But she looked so desolate and miserable, crouching there, that Blanche felt a familiar stabbing ache in her chest.

"Lynn," she said softly. The girl jumped at the sound and rather than facing the actress, she turned and looked into the oven. Blanche could tell that the cake was nearly done—the whole house smelled pleasantly. Lynn would spoil her like this. But it was no good to have a treat if the person sharing it was not in high spirits.

"I shouldn't ask this—not today anyway—but are you feeling all right?" Blanche enquired carefully. She was met with a half-hearted smile from the younger woman, and it discouraged her greatly. Lynn had never before shielded her emotions from her, not even in her grief. In the most uncharacteristic way to her, she stood and remained by the oven—quietly.

"I'm just..." Lynn faltered, averting her gaze and wringing her hands. Blanche waited with baited breath for her to continue. "I really am so sorry, Miss Blanche," the young woman finally uttered. She hung her head, lowering her voice drastically. "And I do understand if you want that "one day" you were talking about yesterday to come earlier than planned..." As her voice died down, she kept her eyes nailed to the floor.

Blanche felt a weight lift off her chest in the relaxed realization that Lynn's insecurity was not caused by something truly worrying. "Oh, Lynn..." she sighed with a weary smile. Lynn looked up at her, slightly surprised at the actress's tender tone. "All this time," Blanche said with a gentle air of disbelief, "you were afraid I'd dismiss you?"

In the brief silence that followed Lynn gave the smallest of nods. Blanche couldn't help letting out another sigh, this time one of pure relief. She flung out her arms in front of her, reaching towards the insecure girl standing in the middle of the kitchen. "Oh, darling, come here..."

After hesitating only momentarily, Lynn stepped forward and towards the offered embrace. Wrapping her arms tightly around the younger woman's back, Blanche whispered warmly, "I'm sorry I brought that up in the first place. I don't want you to leave, you silly girl." She experienced that already familiar feeling of unique closeness. This time, however, it didn't scare her. It felt completely natural to share a hug with a friend. "You can't imagine how much your friendship means to me." Saying this, she tilted her head closer to Lynn's to make sure her words would not be lost to the girl.

"Friendship?" Lynn muttered in stunned disbelief, after a short while pulling back hesitantly to look at the older woman. "You think of me as a friend?" Blanche found the insecurity in her eyes completely endearing.

"Of course," she assured her, nodding to add emphasis to her words. "Actually," she added with a wry smile. "You're like family to me."

* * *

"There's really no need for you to come with me," Lynn said, helping Blanche into her coat. "I can go to the market on my own."

Blanche smiled up at her brilliantly. "But I want to get out of the house," she explained. "Jane never let me," she added thinly.

Lynn looked at her with a sinking feeling in her stomach. It was not uncommon. Lynn always had an awful feeling when the subject of the actress's family was mentioned. The girl even felt a tiny twinge of guilt as she thought about her own and much more pleasant childhood. It had not been absolutely perfect, mind you, but it had definitely been better than Blanche's. Lynn watched compassionately as Blanche settled back in her chair. The young woman had learned by now not to say anything each time she felt bad for the actress, for it would do neither of them good to ruin their mood.

"Maybe now would be a good moment to ask you," Lynn said, picking up her purse and hanging the shopping bag on the back of Blanche's chair.

"Ask me what?" Blanche replied with quick interest.

"My family would really like to meet you someday," Lynn explained, pushing Blanche's chair through the hall and the front doorway. "They're big fans, you know. And they're very curious about where and how I live, and what I do all day."

"Well, naturally," Blanche agreed, leaning back and tilting her head to meet the pale morning sun. "I'd love to meet your family," she added as soon as Lynn had returned from locking the door.

"Oh, that's good, because I've already told them they could come over for tea sometime next week."

"You sneaky little devil!" Blanche laughed.


	12. Chapter 11

"I'm not sure I should go."

"Oh, come on, Lynn! It's a Friday evening, you've been wanting to see this picture ever since it came out, and even before that. And if there's one thing I know something about, it's the motion picture business. You can't possibly miss this picture!"

Lynn turned around in front of the full-length mirror to look straight at the older woman rather than speaking to her reflection. "But remember what happened the last time I left you on your own in the evening?"

Blanche shook her head wearily. "I won't fall out of my chair again. I promise."

"But it doesn't feel right to leave you alone like this," Lynn tried to reason with her, never-mind that at the moment she wanted nothing more than to see the new Angela Lansbury picture at the local movie theatre.

"You really should get out more, Lynn," Blanche didn't back down. "That's something your mother and I agree on. Although I don't think she found me very competent."

"Oh, no, Miss Blanche!" Lynn replied with passion. "She absolutely adored you; she told me so herself right before they took off in the taxi. She's just not that good with meeting new people. I think that's a family trait. Besides I think she was too much in awe to try very hard. I do hope you don't dislike her for it?"

"Of course not, dear," Blanche assured her. "I think she's a very fine woman and I wouldn't mind having her around again sometimes."

Lynn's face broke into a wide smile. "Oh, Miss Blanche, do you really mean it?" she asked, flying forward and towards the sitting woman.

"Of course I do," Blanche replied airily. "Now, get going or you won't be there before the final credits."

Lynn sent her another brilliant smile before she vanished out the door.

* * *

Blanche had been positive nothing nearly as unpleasant could happen to her again now that Lynn was out again. But she had a sinking feeling of uneasiness in her stomach once she heard the knocking on the front door. Blanche turned to head through the living room and into the hall, wondering who'd be calling on her at this late hour. She spared the kitchen window a brief look; it was already dark outside. Lynn would not knock; she had her own key and she also knew there was a doorbell left to the door.

Blanche pulled her chair to a stop by the door and listened. The impatient knocking sounded again, startling Blanche and making her jump slightly.

"Who's there?" she asked loudly, but there was no answer. In a moment, there was the knocking again.

Blanche didn't quite know what possessed her to reach over and turn the key in the keyhole. She wasn't frightened exactly, and the person behind the door could have had an emergency for all she knew. But naturally, that was not the case as just as the door became unlocked, it was flung open and a young man stepped into the hall.

He was of medium height, but in her current position Blanche felt quite small compared to him. His young face was not exactly unpleasant to look at, but at the moment it was held in a rather unappealing frown.

As the stranger leaned closer slightly, Blanche sunk back in her chair, a sudden unwelcome feeling of dread overtaking her. "You're Blanche Hudson?" he asked plainly, squinting his eyes.

It took Blanche a long moment to find her voice, but when she eventually did, she found enough courage in herself to ask, "Who wants to know?"

The stranger bent down suddenly, slamming his hands down on the armrests of Blanche's wheel chair. The actress jumped, watching the man now with sheer fear in her wide eyes. But oddly enough, the man's expression had changed. In his eyes Blanche could detect the slightest hint of mirth.

"I do," he breathed with a broad grin. "So are you?"

If possible, Blanche was even more frightened by his self-confident manner. Silently she nodded her head, keeping her eyes fixed on the man's face.

"Good," the stranger said, remaining in his menacing position for a moment longer and finally moving away from Blanche as he turned to gaze into the living room and the kitchen beyond.

As he stood there and studied the sight of the clean and lit room, Blanche collected herself and steered a little farther from the man. She couldn't quite put her finger on what was so unsettling about this man other than that he'd barged into her house without an invitation and that he knew her name.

Blanche took a shaky breath, and trying to conceal her trepidation, asked hesitantly, "What do you want?"

The man didn't turn to look back at Blanche, rather keeping his eyes roaming the room. "I wanted to see how my sister was doing."

Blanche's thoughts immediately turned to Lynn and her family's visit two days earlier; and she was positive this man had not come with them.

"This is a beautiful home, just like my mommy said." The stranger turned to look at Blanche over his shoulder. "She was here the day before yesterday with Suzy and Tommy. They didn't take me. I was good and stayed home like I was told."

There was something about the way he talked that reminded Blanche of Jane, and it was a part of her she didn't feel any affection for. The way he said, "I was good," took Blanche back to when Jane had said she'd only wanted everything to be nice. Blanche shuddered at the thought.

She realized soon that as silence had settled upon them, the man had turned to look at her pointedly. His face now held a thoughtful expression, and Blanche wondered if it would hurt to ask him—very politely—to be on his way. And as if he'd heard her thoughts, the stranger averted his piercing gaze and stepped back outside, leaving the door open as he made his way across the street to a large black Packard.

Blanche let out a heartfelt sigh she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Despite that the man hadn't actually done anything to physically threaten her, Blanche felt completely shaken by the encounter. After listening tensely to the receding car sounds, she sprung forward and slammed the door shut.


	13. Chapter 12

Lynn closed the door behind her and let her eyes wander over the living room and kitchen. She'd been fairly certain she would come home to find Blanche knitting away under the floor lamp next to one of the sofas. When she looked farther into the gallery, she was intrigued to find a light on in her own room rather than the other woman's.

Lynn crept through the living room and into the gallery, her inbred sense of adventure willing her to keep silent. She should have known her stealth would be no match for the actress's trained, keen ears.

"Lynn, darling," Blanche's sweet tone sounded from the room even before she had reached the doorway. Lynn stood, leaning against the door frame, and observed curiously as Blanche pushed a drawer closed in her chest of drawers and turned to face the door with a fairly guilty expression on her face. "I'm sorry," she began timidly. "I shouldn't be in here. I didn't mean to pry." Her apologetic tone amused Lynn; she'd have never made a scene of finding the older woman in her room, never mind how unusual the prospect was.

"It's okay," she said quickly and reassuringly.

Blanche still looked very troubled, but her shoulders had fallen slightly in relief at Lynn's calmness about the situation—she was completely different from Jane. "I was looking for a family photograph of yours," she explained, clasping her hands together in her lap. "To… To confirm something."

"And what's that?" Lynn queried as she crossed the room swiftly to where Blanche was seated, dropping her purse on the bed when she passed it. She could see now that the actress really was upset about something, and it seemed to Lynn that it was definitely something more serious than being found sneaking around in her maid's room. Blanche didn't reply until Lynn had pulled out a small framed photograph hidden, until then, very skilfully behind another picture and a table mirror.

"And is this all of your family?" Blanche enquired before looking down at the photograph Lynn had placed in her hands. Lynn could see the older woman's eyes widening as she studied the people in the picture.

"Yes. Why?"

Blanche tore her eyes from the photograph and looked up at Lynn's inquisitive face. "Who is this?" she asked, pointing at a young man standing next to Lynn's mother in the picture. "He wasn't here on Wednesday."

Lynn felt mortified to see whom Blanche had pointed at. She had been hoping to never have to tell the actress this bit about her family.

"No; we thought it best not to bring him," Lynn admitted evasively. "That's Dan—my youngest brother." She was hoping desperately that Blanche would just leave it at that; however, her own curiosity got the better of her. "Why do you ask?"

Blanche shook her head in an obvious attempt to clear her head of some disturbing thought, and placed the photograph back on the dresser. "He was here," she spoke quietly. Lynn could feel an abundance of questions building up inside her. "About an hour ago."

Lynn got the terrible impression that the older woman was not telling her something, and she could also guess what it was. "What was he doing here?" she asked with uncanny evenness, her eyes unconsciously trailing Blanche's face and arms for any sign of physical contact her brother might have made.

Blanche must have seen her studying her. She shrugged her shoulders as a nonchalant answer. "Lynn," she began, considering her next words carefully. "Is your brother… I mean… Is he quite… normal?" She breathed out the last word with evident reluctance.

Lynn had dreaded this conversation ever since she'd started to work for the actress. With her history Lynn had thought in best not to have Blanche worry about her problems. For a long agonizing moment Lynn looked into Blanche's concerned eyes, wondering if the floorboards under her feet could possibly give out and grant her the bliss of escaping this impending conversation. However, she soon came to the depressing conclusion that that was not about to happen.

"No," she uttered hesitantly. The level look of understanding Blanche gave her provided Lynn with the confidence she needed to explain further. "Most of the time he's just a little odd, but there are worse days when he's very… confused and… well, upset. Mother denies it. She keeps saying he'll grow out of it." Lynn shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wringing her hands in front of her uncomfortably.

"I'm so very sorry," Blanche whispered with complete and utter anguish.

* * *

"And you're sure you'll be all right?"

Blanche smiled adoringly at Lynn's unfounded concern. At times she felt as though she were a child in need of looking after rather than the other way around. To be fair, that was what she was paying Lynn for, but she had never thought of young people as quite so responsible as Lynn. She astonished Blanche daily with all that she could accomplish.

"I'll be fine," she reassured the young woman, who was gathering the last few things to put into her purse. "What could possibly happen to me here?"

Lynn gave her a meaningful look.

"I'll be on my way back the moment we have that headstone in place," she promised. "It won't be like the day of the funeral."

Blanche shook her head at the tension in Lynn's tone. "Don't hurry back."

With a final lagging glance in Blanche's direction, Lynn hastened out of the house and into the street.

Blanche listened to the key turn in the lock, and then returned her attention to the knitting in her hands and the troubling thoughts on her mind. She couldn't for the life of her understand why Lynn had felt the need not to tell her about her brother. Naturally, she didn't expect the young woman to tell her everything about her, but she'd have thought Lynn would trust her with this—after all, Blanche had, whether intentionally or not, told her rather a lot about Jane.

Even from the way Lynn had spoken about him, it was evident that her relationship with her brother was far less loving than Blanche and Jane's. Maybe it was simply too painful for the girl to speak of her unfortunate sibling. Blanche knew first-hand how difficult it could be.

Around noon Bill called and Blanche was grateful for the distraction, although even as she was speaking to her friend on the phone, she couldn't quite get Lynn and her brother out of her head. They arranged for Bill and Margaret to come over for tea the following Thursday. Bill was starting a new project and his wife was just finishing one. Blanche was looking forward to hearing about the motion picture business of today. She had kept an eye on both Hedda Hopper's and Louella Parsons's columns in the papers, but that was undeniably nothing like the real life on the set and behind the cameras.

Blanche had often thought about the past but rarely missed it. As her thoughts drifted from one familiar face to another, she could almost smell the sawdust and hear the exited hubbub and the director's orders. She would have loved to see another movie set in her lifetime.

A curious sound from the hallway distracted Blanche from her blissful musings and she turned in her chair, so that she could leave her bedroom where she'd received Bill's call.

There was no one in the living room nor did she spot anyone in the kitchen. _How silly of me! Who could possibly be here,_ Blanche thought to herself. _Lynn couldn't be back yet._

Blanche was about to head back to the sofa to pick up her knitting again when her eyes travelled over to the front door and found it slightly ajar. A chilly feeling of unease filled her as she stared at the door. Lynn had definitely locked it.

"Hello?" Blanche called out apprehensively. "Is someone there?" Her eyes remained nailed to the silent front door for a long moment. And then a shuffling sound from the kitchen startled her.


	14. Chapter 13

Lynn was thinking fondly of her brave mother, who had shed but one tear during their time at the cemetery, when she turned her key in the keyhole and didn't hear the quiet click she had been expecting. She was certain she'd left the door locked when she'd left in the morning.

She entered the house with a disturbing premonition. "Miss Blanche?" she called out when she didn't find the actress in the living room as she'd expected. "I'm home!"

When no answer came, she threw the door shut and hurried through the living room and kitchen, crossing the gallery and for some odd reason, looking into her own room before stopping at the door of the actress's bedroom. She could actually feel her heart sink at finding the room uninhabited. Lynn called out the older woman's name in anguish, and even managed to bring herself to stand still and hold her breath for a brief moment to see if she could hear anything but the rapid beating of her own worried heart.

A couple of seconds later she had already bolted to the French doors at the back of the house and flung them open. "Miss Blanche!" Lynn ran through the large garden, her eyes roaming her surroundings and her mind willing her to believe she would find the familiar wheel chair just beyond the next bush. "Miss Blanche!"

To Lynn's increasing displeasure the neighbours' radio started playing the same moment she called out, and the woman barely held herself back from shouting something rather unpleasant over the fence.

After circling the garden at least thrice, Lynn came to the thrilling realization that she had forgotten to consider the bathroom. She let out a relieved laugh at her silly self, and hurried back into the house.

Her heart must have missed a beat or two when she first stopped in the doorway of the empty bathroom. Clinging on to the door frame, Lynn struggled to catch breath and call out Blanche's name at the same time.

She remained leant against the door frame for a minute, panicky thoughts rushing through her mind. If she'd found Blanche fallen out of her chair again or tripped over the stairs outside, she'd have been eternally grateful. Even in her wildest nightmares she hadn't thought she'd ever come home to find her invalid friend missing. With a shuddering intake of breath, Lynn attempted to think of all the possible explanations and of the reasons the actress might have left the house.

Stumbling twice on her way, she rushed over to the telephone on the kitchen counter. As she dialled the first number she could think of, she breathed in and out deeply, hoping to make her voice sound at least a bit calmer than she was feeling. Her mind vaguely registered that Blanche hadn't left her any note that might have helped her.

"Hello?"

It took Lynn quite a long moment to fully realize who it was she had called in her confused state of mind.

"Pauline," she breathed into the telephone. "This is Lynn… Lynn White. You remember me, don't you? I'm Blanche Hudson's maid." Lynn reached over and pulled a chair closer from behind the nearby kitchen table. She sat down shakily as she listened to Mrs. Bates's cheerful voice at the other end of the line.

"Yes, well, you wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you? I mean, I haven't forgotten about any arrangements you and Miss Blanche might have had, have I?… No-no, everything is fine!" she added hurriedly as soon as the other woman's tone turned concerned. "I was just—You know what? I've just remembered where she's at. It's so silly of me. There is absolutely no need for you to worry, Pauline. I'm sorry for bothering you… Yes, I'll tell her you said that. Bye!"

Lynn dropped the receiver back on the hook with a worse feeling than the one she'd had when she had first picked it up. Now she was lying. The moment Mrs. Bates had responded to her question, Lynn had understood the woman had not a clue about the actress's whereabouts.

Suddenly Lynn had a powerful urge to cry. Before meeting Blanche she had never thought she would be responsible for someone's well-being at such an early age. With that somewhat frightening responsibility had also come a satisfying feeling of pride. But now she just felt so helpless; a scathing feeling of failure crept up to her. She felt tears welling up in her eyes as she thought of the one thing she'd had to and failed to do—look after Blanche Hudson.

A shuddering sound of despair left her as she picked up the receiver once again. She hesitated for a moment before dialling the number, praying that the right person would pick up.

She bit her lip to restrain a disappointed sob when a merry female voice answered the phone. "Hello, Margaret," she spoke thinly. "This is Lynn. Is William there?" Lynn let out a relieved sigh when the woman on the other side of the phone called out to her husband, "Bill! Telephone! Lynn's calling, and she sounds upset."

So much for restraint!

"Hi, Lynn! How can I help you?" Bill's warm and happy voice reached her. Somehow he seemed to have a calming effect on her, and when Lynn spoke, she even managed to convince herself of her composure.

"I was wondering if you knew where Miss Blanche was. She's not with you, is she?"

"No, I don't think so," Bill replied carefully. "Is she not there with you? I just spoke to her—not two hours ago."

"She's not here," Lynn answered and heard her own voice starting to tremble again. "But I think she's… She's just…"

"Lynn," Bill interrupted her firmly. "Is Blanche missing?" He waited a beat. "Lynn? Do you know where she is?" There was another long moment of silence.

"No," the girl sighed into the phone. Bill held his breath in anxious anticipation. "I came home and she was gone. I don't know where she is. I'm scared." She was sobbing now.

"Now, listen here, Lynn," Bill told her, trying to sound confident, panic of his own rising in him. "Are you sure you've looked everywhere?" Naturally, he already knew the answer to that, or else the young woman would not have called.

"She's not in the house; I've looked into the garden… I… I don't know what to do…" she wept.

"All right," Bill managed a reassuring tone. "Now, Lynn, listen to me. Don't you worry. It's all going to be all right. You just pick up that phone and call the police now. I'm coming over."

His mind riddled with worries, Bill realized he was not exactly thinking straight. He was supposed to have a table-read with his new colleagues on his new movie in an hour.

"What's the matter, Bill?"

Bill turned to face his intrigued wife. She must have seen the pallid fear on his face because her voice had taken on a concerned tone.

"Blanche," Bill replied plainly, dashing past his wife and grabbing his jacket from the back of an armchair. "I'm going over there."

As he passed a cabinet with framed family photographs on the top of it, a frightening thought stood out from all the frightful possibilities that had leaped to his mind. "Find the number for the sanatorium and ask them if Jane Hudson is still there," he asked of his wife as he made his way hurriedly over to the door.

"Why? What's happened?" Margaret asked worriedly.

"And call Jim. Tell him I'll be late for our table-read!"

* * *

Bill rang the doorbell impatiently and twice. On his way here he'd figured he was the one who had to keep a clear head about this. Lynn would be beside herself, and if there was nothing to be done about helping Blanche for the moment, the next best thing was to help Lynn.

"Lynn!" Bill called insistently, pounding on the door. But when he didn't hear a sound from inside, he began to make his way around the house and to the back door he knew to be made of glass. He wondered fleetingly if this was his fate—to be the last one to speak to a woman before she disappears. He'd have to remember never to take Maggie's calls again.

Once he'd rounded the corner, he thankfully found the girl he'd started to fret about. She was kneeling in the middle of the garden, her face buried in her hands.

Bill approached her with enough stealth to not frighten her and also make his presence known. When he reached her, he crouched down next to her and placed a friendly reassuring hand on her shoulder. He'd done that in his pictures, so he reckoned it must be the right thing to do on a dismal kind of occasion such as this one.

"Lynn, dear," he spoke quietly, and a pair of wide, teary eyes looked at him from between the girl's fingers. "You mustn't worry yourself so much. I know this must be hard for you right now. God knows, I know what it's like to miss Blanche Hudson. But if you called the police, then that's all we can do for her right now."

Lynn nodded her head without raising it from her hands. Bill could see from the redness of her eyes that she had been crying a lot since he'd last spoken to her. He assumed that she had been looking for Blanche again in the garden when she'd finally broken down completely.

The ring of the doorbell that, despite what Bill had thought, could actually be heard way back in the garden, startled them both, for a heavy silence had fallen upon them during the last couple of minutes. Bill tilted his head to look at Lynn inquisitively, and lowering her hands from her face, the girl muttered, "That's the police."

Carefully aiding her to stand up, Bill watched the girl wipe at her tears decisively. She straightened up bravely and turned to head into the house. Bill followed her silently, taking her curt manner as a way of coping with the emotional turmoil inside her.


End file.
